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Froman 


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QRANDHOTHER 


OF  OALir.   LIBRARY,   LOS  ANGELES 


GRANDMOTHER 


A  Tale  of  Old  Kentucky 


BY 

y 

<-/ v> 
SUE  FROMAN  MATTHEWS, 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Sic  Vita  Est,"  a  semi-religious  story. 
"  A  Beggar's  Story,"  a  tale  for  children. 


NEW  YORK: 

J.  S.  OGILVIE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
57  ROSE  STREET. 


COPYBIGHT  1911.  BY 

J.  S.  OGILVIE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 


To 

The  Cggleston  Club, 

Vevay,  Indiana, 

This  Book 

Is 
Affectionately  Dedicated. 


2131109 


Mine  is  a  time  of  peace,  and  there 

is  Grace  to  be  had  ; 
And  God,  not  man,  is  the  Judge  of 

us  all  when  life  shall  cease  ; 
And  in  this  Book,  little  Annie, 

the  message  is  one  of  Peace. 

"The  Grandmother" —  TENNYSON. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     UNCLE  HENRY    ...*>:..  9 

II.     VARENA 23 

III.  "EXPERIENCE    JOIN'D   TO    COMMON 

SENSE 

To  MORTALS  is  A  PROVIDENCE"    .     .  38 

IV.  THE  TOBACCO  BARN 55 

V.     RARE  GEMS 70 

VI.     THE  BERNADOTTE  BALL    ....  96 

VII.     MATERNITY 121 

VIII.     FORGIVENESS 136 

IX.     ELEANOR 150 

X.    A  DISCOVERY 161 

XL    BOARDING  SCHOOL 169 

XII.     DEVELOPMENTS 205 

XIII.  TROUBLE 224 

XIV.  THE  SPECTRE 235 

XV.    'REVELATIONS  ...  260 


GRANDMOTHER. 


CHAPTER   I 

UNCLE   HENRY. 

"Marse  John!  Marse  John!  Ain't  this  hole  deep 
'nough?  We  got  t'  get  it  done  'fore  the  cock  crows. 
My!  this  iron  box  is  powerful  heavy. 
Can't  you  lift  that  end,  Marse  John? 
My  back  is  'most  broke,  diggin',  diggin',  diggin' 
.  .  .  O,  Marse  John!" 

"Uncle  Henry,  keep  quiet  and  listen  to  me.  You 
have  so  much  fever  that  you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  saying.  Mr.  John  has  been  dead  a  long 
time.  The  pain  in  your  back  is  caused  by  your  ill- 
ness." 

The  old  negro  looked  at  his  mistress  with  a 
glimmer  of  intelligence. 

"Do  you  understand  me,  Uncle  Henry?"  she 
continued.  "You  are  better  to-day,  and,  if  you'll 
lie  still  and  sleep,  you'll  get  well.  Don't  talk  about 
things  that  are  buried  with  the  past." 

"Buried!  Sure,  Miss  Laura.  We  got  it  buried. 
.  .  .  The  smooth  ground  and  green  sod  over 
it.  ...  Just  when  I  looked  up  over  the  big  hill, 
there  came  the  sun,  a  blazin'  away  at  us.  I  thought 
it  was  the  eye  of  the  Lord." 

"Hush!  hush,  Uncle  Henry.  Take  this  powder 
and  try  to  sleep.  The  Lord  willing,  your  mind 
will  be  clear  in  the  morning." 


io  GRANDMOTHER 

She  gave  him  an  opiate  and  quietly  left  the  room. 
She  closed  the  door,  locked  it  on  the  outside,  and 
put  the  key  in  her  pocket.  There  was  stillness 
throughout  the  house,  save  the  voice  of  the  sick  man, 
who  continued  to  murmur  unintelligible  words,  until 
he  fell  asleep,  saying,  "D.  V.— D.  V." 

Mrs.  Falconer  wandered  through  the  rooms  in 
search  of  the  children,  smiling  sadly  as  she  recalled 
the  days  when  the  old-fashioned  home  was  crowded 
with  inmates.  Then,  some  one  merrily  dubbed  the 
place,  Finden,  because  there  were  many  cozy  cor- 
ners where  young  people  could  hide  for  confidential 
tete-a-tetes.  A  part  of  this  old  Kentucky  dwelling 
was  built  before  the  advent  of  nails,  when  the  roof 
was  made  of  walnut  clapboards  fastened  with  wal- 
nut pegs.  Then,  as  the  land  around  was  cleared 
and  cultivated  and  the  family  increased,  rooms  were 
added  and  improvements  made  until  it  grew  into  its 
present  form.  It  might  now  be  likened  to  an  im- 
mense carpenter's  square.  The  front  parlor,  the 
main  hall,  the  family  sitting-room,  the  "white-help" 
dining-room,  and  the  negro  quarters  faced  the 
south.  The  back  parlor,  the  library,  and  Grand- 
mother's room  looked  toward  the  west.  Inside  the 
square  on  which  the  doors  of  the  three  west  rooms 
opened  was  a  veranda  fourteen  by  forty-six  feet. 
At  right  angles  to  this  was  the  family  dining-hall, 
and  beyond,  pantries,  et  cetera.  The  second  story 
followed  the  same  plan.  The  front  yard  sloped 
down  to  a  little  brook  that  skirted  the  base  of  a 
range  of  high  hills  and  found  its  way  to  the  Ohio 
River.  On  the  west  side,  the  rolling  ground  ter- 
minated in  a  grove  of  trees  of  various  kinds. 

Finding  no  one  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Falconer  went 
out  to  the  end  of  the  veranda  and  stood  looking 
over  the  grove,  for  a  moment,  forgetful  of  the 
children  of  whom  she  was  in  search.  Her  thoughts 
were  filled  with  misgivings  concerning  the  faithful 


GRANDMOTHER  n 

old  servant  whose  life  was  so  mysteriously  linked 
with  her  own.  Her  years  had  passed  the  half-cen- 
tury mark.  Her  form,  stately  and  supple,  her  hair, 
golden  and  luxurious,  her  complexion,  soft  and  fair, 
were  as  pleasing  to  behold  as,  when  a  girl  of  six- 
teen, she  was  called  the  belle  of  the  country.  But 
silver  threads  among  the  gold,  the  character  sketches 
on  the  face,  and  the  impenetrable  depths  of  the 
dark  eyes  revealed  the  beauties  of  an  individuality 
that  had  passed  through  great  tribulation  and  come 
out  refined  and  pure. 

A  scream  and  a  merry  ripple  of  laughter  attracted 
her  attention,  and  a  gentle  smile  spread  over  her 
face — a  rare  expression,  seen  only  in  the  counte- 
nances of  those  in  whose  hearts  grandchildren  have 
a  home.  She  walked  down  to  the  grove.  A  cool 
breeze  was  blowing  from  the  river,  and  it  caress- 
ingly tossed  about  the  leaves  of  a  large  poplar-tree, 
whose  silver  linings  reminded  her  of  frolicsome 
faces.  As  she  drew  near,  she  saw  with  surprise  the 
smiling  face  of  her  ten-year-old  granddaughter 
peeking  at  her  from  the  heart  of  the  tree.  On  the 
ground  beneath  were  two  boys.  One,  a  handsome, 
brown-eyed  fellow  of  twelve  years,  was  laughing  and 
pleading  with  the  girl  to  come  down  from  her 
perch.  The  other,  also  twelve  years  old,  was  im- 
patiently digging  a  hole  in  the  soft  earth.  At  sight 
of  the  newly  overturned  sod,  Mrs.  Falconer's  smile 
disappeared. 

"My  dear,  what  are  you  doing?"  she  asked. 

The  boy  looked  up,  surprised  by  the  tremor  in  his 
grandmother's  voice,  and  replied,  "Making  a  cave 
for  our  gold." 

"If  you  are  going  to  play  robbers  again,  find  a 
hiding-place  under  some  other  tree.  I  don't  want 
you  ever  to  dig  here,"  she  stated  positively. 

"All  right,  Grandmother;  we  won't  need  to  play 
robbers  if  Sister  will  come  down  out  of  the  tree  till 


12  GRANDMOTHER 

we  get  things  fixed,"  said  Ralph,  throwing  down 
his  spade. 

"We'll  fill  up  the  hole  and  put  the  sod  back, 
Grandmother,"  Russell  promised,  accompanying  his 
words  with  the  work. 

They  had  built  a  house  in  the  tree,  where  the 
large  boughs  extended  almost  parallel  with  the 
ground.  Some  new  boards  formed  the  floor,  green 
branches  the  roof,  and  a  light  ladder  the  means  of 
ascent.  Varena  was  now  in  possession,  with  the 
ladder  drawn  up  beside  her.  She  sat  on  a  limb, 
swinging  her  feet  back  and  forth,  while  she  coolly 
disengaged  her  long  curls  from  the  twigs,  around 
which  the  wind  had  fastened  them. 

"You  will  fall  over  backward,  Varena,  if  you're 
not  careful,"  Mrs.  Falconer  cautioned. 

"And  be  hung  by  the  hair,  as  Absalom  was," 
laughed  Ralph. 

"What  were  you  making  up  in  the  tree?"  asked 
the  grandmother. 

"That  funny  little  building,"  began  Russell,  point- 
ing to  the  house,  "where  that  little  queen  has  undis- 
puted possession " 

"But  it  is  disputed,"  Ralph  interrupted. 

"Any  way,"  continued  Russell,  "that  wonderful 
house  is  the  World's  Palace.  The  ground,  all 
around  the  grove,  is  the  'three-fourths  water  of  the 
globe,'  and  the  trees  are  the  different  nations.  That 
tall  acorn-tree  is  England." 

"That's  not  an  acorn,"  Ralph  corrected. 

"O  well,"  continued  Russell,  "it  has  to  be.  You 
know,  Grandmother,  an  oak  is  hard  and  strong  and 
long-lived.  Then,  you  see,  those  three  small  trees 
are  just  in  the  position  to  be  Scotland,  Ireland,  and 
Wales." 

"Then,  all  together,  you  would  call  it,  what?" 
questioned  Mrs.  Falconer. 


GRANDMOTHER  13 

"The  British  Isles,"  Varena  responded. 

"Good  for  you,  little  Sister.  Now,  come  down 
from  the  tree,"  begged  Ralph. 

"That  black-looking  tree  yonder  is  Africa.  That 
yellow  pine  is  China,  and  this  cherry  tree  is  Japan," 
Russell  explained. 

"What  do  you  call  the  big  sycamore  tree?"  asked 
Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Russia.  The  black-walnut  is  Turkey.  The  lit- 
tle birch  tree  is  Switzerland.  The  maple  tree  is 
France.  That  evergreen  is  Italy,"  continued  Rus- 
sell, conscious  of  the  pleasure  he  was  giving  his 
grandmother,  in  making  practical  application  of  the 
lessons  they  had  learned,  for  she  was  their  only 
teacher. 

"But  where  is  the  United  States?"  asked  Mrs. 
Falconer. 

"O,  didn't  we  tell  you?  That  red-wood  tree. 
It  says  in  our  geography  that  Sequoia  is  shipped  to 
all  parts  of  the  world.  It  is  of  great  value  to  every 
nation,  that's  why  we  call  it  the  United  States,"  ex- 
plained Russell. 

"But  we  had  to  give  up  trying  to  hold  a  World's 
Conference,"  complained  Ralph,  "because  Sister 
wouldn't  play  unless  she  could  be  treasurer.  Then 
I  said  we  would  play  'Robbers.'  Then,  Sister  pulled 
the  ladder  up  and  wouldn't  do  anything.  Now, 
she's  laughing  at  us.  Make  her  play  fair,  Grand- 
mother, won't  you?" 

"It  is  almost  time  for  your  study-hour,  and  Va- 
rena must  practise  her  music;  so  we  shall  go  to  the 
house  and  talk  of  the  peace  quarrel  later,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Why,  Grandmother!"  called  Varena,  from  the 
tree,  "You  said  we  need  not  have  any  lessons  until 
Uncle  Henry  was  better." 

"We'll  not  have  lessons;  but  you  can  study  and 
practise.  Come,  dear." 


i4  GRANDMOTHER 

Russell  helped  lower  the  ladder  and  held  it  while 
Varena  came  down. 

When  Mrs.  Falconer  was  left  a  widow  by  the 
death  of  her  husband,  the  minister,  she  retired  from 
active  church-work  and  came  back  to  Kentucky,  to 
reside  with  her  only  daughter,  who  was  married 
and  living  in  the  old  homestead.  In  the  midst  of 
the  complications  of  an  extraordinary  mystery,  her 
son-in-law  was  taken  away;  and,  in  less  than  a  year, 
her  daughter  died,  leaving  the  little  girl  baby  and  the 
two  boys  to  the  tender  care  of  their  grandmother. 
She  faithfully  and  conscientiously  devoted  her  life 
to  the  orphans;  for  she  was  thoroughly  capable  of 
being  all  things  to  them.  When  they  attained  to 
the  age  of  school-children  she  began  with  their  les- 
sons, and,  as  the  presence  of  a  governess  was  unde- 
sirable, she  purposed  continuing  their  instructions 
until  they  were  able  to  enter  a  high  school  or  college. 
That  which  once  had  been  the  sitting-room  of  their 
great-grandfather's  family,  was  now  their  school- 
room. Old-fashioned  portraits  of  ancestors  hung 
above  the  fireplace.  Steel  engravings,  of  Plock- 
horst's  "Christ  Blessing  Little  Children,"  Hof- 
mann's  "Among  the  Doctors,"  and  Paul  Thuman's 
"Psyche  at  Nature's  Mirror,"  covered  the  wall  be- 
tween the  front  windows.  Above  the  old  Steinway, 
the  familiar  faces  of  Beethoven,  Bach,  Handel, 
Liszt,  Mendelssohn,  Mozart,  Schubert  and  Schu- 
mann were  grouped.  Near  the  bookcase,  were 
portraits  of  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Gladstone,  and 
Spurgeon.  In  one  corner,  a  what-not  was  filled  with 
statuettes,  rare  vases,  shells,  and  curios.  About 
every  article  the  children  were  conversant;  but  that 
which  engaged  their  attention  daily  was  Webster's 
Unabridged  Dictionary.  It  occupied  the  center  of 
the  schoolroom.  Ralph  called  it  "Grandmother's 
hobby-horse";  for  she  required  the  children  and 
servants  to  use  proper  words  and  to  pronounce  cor- 


GRANDMOTHER  i$ 

rectly;  and  she  was  proud  of  being  one  of  the  com- 
paratively few  Southern  women  who  trained  their 
servants  to  speak  the  language  of  the  mistress,  in- 
stead of  permitting  the  dialect  of  the  darkies.  In 
this  atmosphere  of  purity  and  refinement  and  aris- 
tocratic conservatism,  Russell,  Ralph,  and  Varena 
Farnam  were  being  developed. 

After  they  had  come  in  from  the  grove  and  taken 
up  the  duties  of  the  hour,  Mrs.  Falconer  slipped 
away  to  the  room  of  the  sick  man.  She  found 
Uncle  Henry  awake  and  delirious.  Calling  a  serv- 
ant, she  sent  him  to  town  with  instructions  to  bring 
the  old  family  physician,  and  no  one  else. 

An  hour  later  Varena  fretted:  "I've  learned  my 
lessons,  Grandmother,  and  I've  practised;  but,  now, 
we  can't  go  and  play  in  the  big  tree  because  it  rains." 

"Did  you  get  the  little  Chopin  waltz  committed?" 

"Yes'm;  I  played  without  looking  at  the  notes." 

"Did  you  use  the  metronome?" 

"No,  Grandmother;  it  goes  too  fast." 

"Be  patient,  dear,  and  you  will  get  it  up  to  presto 
before  long.  Go  call  the  boys  and  come  out  on 
the  veranda,  and  we  shall  watch  it  rain  and  play 
games,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

Seated  on  the  broad  veranda,  where  rich,  heavy 
curtains,  suspended  from  old-fashioned  windows, 
formed  the  background,  where  rafters  of  unfinished 
timber  made  an  artistic  ceiling,  and  an  immense 
crimson  rambler  in  full  bloom  shaded  an  old  arm- 
chair, Mrs.  Falconer  and  her  three  wards  made  a 
picture  that  would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  the 
domestic  artist,  Millet,  or,  with  the  misty  rain, 
would  have  charmed  the  sombre  Corot. 

"What  shall  we  play?"  asked  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Bible  game,"  Ralph  suggested. 

"Now,  when  I  call  a  letter  of  the  alphabet,  the 
one  who  calls  the  name  of  a  Bible  character  begin- 
ning with  that  letter,  scores  one.  Ten  is  the  game. 


1 6  GRANDMOTHER 

Remember  the  sacred  names  must  not  be  used,"  ad- 
monished Mrs.  Falconer. 

"All  right.  Go  ahead,  Grandmother,"  Russell 
urged. 

"B,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Beelzebub,"  Baal,"  "Bethel,"  all  came  at  once. 

"How  can  I  mark  the  score  when  you  all  begin 
at  once?" 

"Baal  was  the  shortest  and  I  was  done  first," 
Ralph  declared. 

"Well,  one  for  Ralph.     G,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Goliath,"  "Gabriel,"  "Gulliver." 

"Ha-ha-ha,  Sister,  you  are  out.  Gulliver's  not 
in  the  Bible,"  laughed  Ralph. 

"I  know  it,"  Varena  answered;  "but  it  was  all 
I  could  think  of." 

"D,"  called  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Daniel,"  "Deuteronomy,"  "Devil." 

Daniel  scored  for  Russell. 

"W,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"That  isn't  fair,  Grandmother.  You  know  there 
are  no  proper  names  in  the  Bible  that  begin  with 
W,"  Ralph  objected. 

"Is  Devil  a  proper  name?"  asked  Russell. 

"I  suppose  you  would  call  it  an  improper  name. 
Any  way,  I  didn't  score  on  it,"  answered  Ralph. 

"H,"  was  called. 

"Hiram,"   "Haman,"   "Hannah." 

"Don't  yell  so  loud,  Varena,"  said  Ralph, 
"Grandmother  isn't  deaf." 

The  game  was  continued  until  Russell  had  won 
ten  points.  Then,  cities  were  made  the  test;  next 
presidents,  kings,  and  queens.  While  it  was  a  jolly 
frolic,  it  also  quickened  the  memory  and  sharpened 
the  wit. 

"Now,  Grandmother,  tell  us  a  true  story,  please," 
Russell  entreated. 


GRANDMOTHER  17 

"Shall  I  tell  you  about  the  little  child  your  Grand- 
father baptized?" 

"The  one  who  put  his  hand  in  the  water  and 
sprinkled  some  on  Grandfather's  head?"  asked 
Varena. 

"No;  this  was  in  another  place,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "It  was  communion  day,  in  a  beautiful 
church  full  of  people.  The  organist  was  improvis- 
ing softly  and  sweetly,  around  the  old  tune,  'When 
he  cometh  to  make  up  his  jewels.'  The  elders  were 
seated  before  the  sacramental  table.  At  a  sign 
from  the  minister,  an  elegantly  dressed  lady  and 
her  husband  came  forward,  bringing  a  little  child, 
perhaps  three  years  old;  daintily  dressed  in  a  kilt 
suit,  wide  sash,  white  shoes,  and  silk  hose.  Your 
grandfather  leaned  forward,  and  the  child's  name 
was  whispered  to  him.  Then,  he  baptized  'Jessie.' 
As  he  was  praying  that  the  parents  might  be  enabled 
to  train  up  their  beloved  little  girl  in  the  way  she 
should  go,  the  child  spoke  out  in  a  clear,  abused 
voice,  saying:  'I  am  a  boy!'  ' 

Ralph  rolled  over  on  the  floor  and  yelled,  Russell 
smiled  in  his  quiet,  amused  manner,  while  Varena, 
failing  to  see  the  point,  became  the  target  of  her 
brothers'  badinage.  Mrs.  Falconer  looked  at  her 
watch  and  hastened  to  Uncle  Henry's  room  to  ad- 
minister his  medicine  and  attend  to  his  evening  meal. 

The  days  passed  slowly.  The  sick  negro,  suffer- 
ing with  malarial  fever,  was  alternately  better  and 
worse.  The  duties  of  the  household,  the  care  and 
instruction  of  the  children,  the  supervision  of  the 
affairs  of  the  farm,  with  the  surveillance  of  the  sick- 
room, were  relaxing  the  elasticity  of  the  steps  and 
deepening  the  unselfish  furrows  of  the  kind  face  of 
the  grandmother,  and  proving  deleterious  to  her 
constitution. 


1 8  GRANDMOTHER 

"Grandmother,  why  do  you  do  all  the  work  for 
Uncle  Henry?  You  can  make  Jim  take  care  of  him. 
If  you're  afraid  he  will  forget  the  medicine,  let  me 
do  it,  please,  and  you  lie  down  and  rest.  Won't  you, 
Grandmother?"  urged  Russell. 

"You  must  not  neglect  your  studies,  dear,"  she 
made  excuse. 

"I  can  take  my  books  and  study  in  his  room," 
he  argued. 

"And  get  the  fever.  Then  where  could  I  find 
rest?"  and  she  smiled  into  the  boy's  earnest  eyes. 

"I'm  so  strong  and  well,  and  you  look  so  tired. 
Please,  Grandmother."  He  put  his  arm  around  her 
neck,  and  did  not  try  to  conceal  the  tears  that 
pleaded  for  him. 

"Russell,  Uncle  Henry  is  more  to  me  than  a  faith- 
ful old  servant.  We  were  born  in  the  same  year, 
cradled  by  the  same  nurse.  When  we  were  grown- 
up children,  my  father  promised  to  give  Henry  to 
me  as  a  wedding-present.  He  was  very  proud  of 
that,  and  was  my  most  devoted  slave.  My  horse 
and  buggy  were  always  at  my  service;  my  skirts 
were  brushed,  my  shoes  cleaned.  In  fact,  he  would 
neglect  everything  else  to  see  that  'Miss  Laura's 
wishes  were  gratified." 

"I  heard  him  tell  Ralph  that  he  used  to  be  mean 
to  you,"  Russell  intimated. 

"Well,  he  wasn't,"  insisted  Mrs.  Falconer.  "I 
know  to  what  he  referred.  He  disliked  to  churn, 
and  that  was  his  regular  job  Saturday  mornings. 
In  the  fall,  when  papaws  were  ripe — and  I  was  very 
fond  of  them — he  would  get  the  churn  back  of  the 
kitchen  where  mother  could  not  see,  and  then  in- 
duce me  to  churn  while  he  went  to  get  papaws  for 
me.  Years  after,  he  told  me  that  he  always  pro- 
cured the  papaws  the  night  before,  when  he  went 
after  the  cows,  so  he  could  get  behind  a  rose-bush 


GRANDMOTHER  19 

and  sleep  till  the  butter  came.  There  was  nothing 
very  mean  in  that." 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  mean  in  what  any- 
body did?"  Russell  suggested. 

"When  Lincoln's  proclamation  to  free  the  negroes 
was  sent  through  the  South,"  continued  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "Henry  insisted  that  he  could  not  accept  his 
freedom  because  he  was  honor-bound  to  be  my  wed- 
ding present," 

"He  has  always  lived  here;  so  you  didn't  take 
him  when  you  were  married,"  put  in  Russell. 

"I  married  a  minister  and  we  went  North  and 
West,  and  I  could  not  keep  a  colored  man  in  the 
family.  When  we  came  home  on  our  annual  visits, 
he  was  here  to  wait  on  us;  and,  when  my  beloved 
daughter  came  here  to  live  and  take  care  of  her 
grandparents,  he  was  as  faithful  to  her  as  he  would 
have  been  to  me." 

"Grandmother,  did  mamma  marry  your  old 
sweetheart?"  asked  Ralph,  coming  into  the  room 
and  hearing  part  of  the  conversation. 

"Well,  yes,  dear.  In  the  Kentucky  sense  of  the 
word  I  suppose  he  was  an  old  sweetheart  of  mine," 
replied  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"That  is  the  novelty  part  of  Kentucky.  When 
a  man  doesn't  get  the  girl  he  loves,  he  waits  and 
marries  her  daughter.  I'll  bet  you  had  a  lot  of 
sweethearts,  Grandmother.  I  wish  papa  and 
mamma  and  grandfather  and  great-grandfather 
and  great-grandmother  were  all  here.  Wouldn't 
we  have  a  house  full  of  nice  people,"  gushed 
Ralph,  looking  at  the  portraits. 

"I  wish  I  could  share  the  responsibility  of  you 
three  orphans  with  some  of  your  parents,"  and 
Mrs.  Falconer  became  serious. 

"We  are  nearly  thirteen  years  old,  and  you  ex- 
pect us  to  be  ready  for  college  in  a  few  years;  but 


20  GRANDMOTHER 

I  would  rather  be  more  help  to  you  than  to  study 
and  practise  all  the  time,"  said  Russell. 

"Don't  worry  about  me.  You  do  more  than 
your  share  as  it  is;  for  you  do  what  Ralph  leaves 
undone,"  Mrs.  Falconer  replied. 

"Grandmother,  you  know  I'm  too  much  of  a 
Kentucky  gentleman  to  like  to  work,"  laughed 
Ralph.  "Russell  is  the  new  South;  I'm  the  old." 

"Your  father  was  one  of  the  best  men  I 
ever  knew,"  began  Mrs.  Falconer,  "and  your 
mother " 

"The  most  beautiful,"   Ralph  interrupted. 

"She  was  very  pretty,"  continued  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"but  not  so  beautiful  as  Mabel  Murratt,  a  young 
lady  who  united  with  our  church  when  we  lived  in 
the  city  of  Louiston.  Mabel  made  a  great  pet  of 
your  mamma,  who  was  then  a  young  girl.  I  have 
been  reminded  of  her  often  by  an  expression  in  Rus- 
sell's eyes;  and,  as  he  grows  older,  that  little  dimp- 
ling around  the  lips  is  even  more  like  her." 

"O  Grandmother,  come  quick  and  look  at  the 
sky,"  Varena  called,  from  the  hall  door. 

"The  aurora  borealis.  Isn't  it  fine?"  exclaimed 
Russell. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
the  auroral  display  was  beautiful  and  sublime.  Such 
phenomena  were  seen  rarely  in  this  latitude.  There 
were  faint  tinges  of  colored  lights;  and  not  alone 
the  usual  brilliant  streams  toward  the  zenith,  but 
shimmering,  cloudlike  masses  of  light  would  float 
upward  and  fade  away  in  upper  space  with  almost 
the  rapidity  of  sheet  lightning.  Then,  again,  sombre, 
shadowy  banks  of  darkness  would  appear  in  the 
northern  horizon,  rise  upward  like  a  huge  mountain- 
cloud,  and,  around  its  edges,  a  brilliant  auroral  col- 
oring would  burst  forth,  from  which  there  appeared 
to  be  dashed  upward  fleecy  snow-drifts,  of  the 
brightness  of  the  moon.  Suddenly,  the  dark  mass 


GRANDMOTHER  21 

be  divided  by  streams  of  light,  seeming  to 
f(rm  in  the  zenith  a  grand  dome  of  the  heavens. 
Tis,  fading  away,  would  again  be  succeeded  by 
thi  shimmering  light  and  electric  clouds,  and  the 
dak  mass  again  settle  back  to  the  horizon  like  a 
hug  mountain  promontory  in  the  sea. 

'One  could  readily  imagine  the  scene  of  creation 
wasbeing  re-enacted,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "that 
Godwas  separating  the  light  from  the  darkness  in 
the  creation  of  the  new  world." 

"A-e  the  other  worlds  inhabited?"  Ralph  asked. 

"Tiey  may  be,"  replied  Russell.  "Don't  you  re- 
memhr  the  legend  that  told  how  the  Creator  made 
a  hunlred  worlds  and  only  one  of  them  fell  away 
in  sin, and  Christ  died  to  save  it;  and  the  angels  in 
heaver  rejoiced  more  over  it  than  over  the  ninety 
and  niie  just  ones  that  were  never  lost?" 

Ther  evening  prayers  were  said  on  the  veranda 
in  the  atmosphere  of  God's  world  of  wonders,  and 
Morphms  peopled  their  dreams  with  angelic  beings 
floating  in  space. 

Aftei  weeks  of  convalescence,  Uncle  Henry  was 
able  to  sit  in  his  chair  out  on  the  lawn,  greatly  to 
the  delight  of  the  children.  Varena  sang  to  him 
and  read  to  him,  gathered  flowers  and  crowned  him, 
and  made  her  white  Eskimo  dog,  Flash,  perform 
for  his  anusement,  and  her  kitten  go  to  sleep  in  his 
lap.  Tie  boys  reported  to  him  concerning  the 
farm,  al]  that  Jim  had  done  and  more  that  he  had 
left  undone.  They  felt  as  if  life  would  begin  anew 
when  Uncle  Henry,  who  had  superintended  the 
place  for  two  generations,  was  at  the  helm  again. 

The  old  negro  had  made  up  his  mind  that  Rus- 
sell was  to  take  charge  when  his  labors  were  over. 
To-day,  as  he  contemplated  the  boys,  he  said: 

"Grandmother,  you'll  have  to  send  Ralph  to  the 
city  when  he  is  old  'nough.  He  will  make  ?  good 
banker.  That  investment  down  at  Harlam,  Tenn., 


22  GRANDMOTHER 

is  just  the  thing  for  him.  He  is  first-rate  at  fig;res. 
It  takes  brains  to  be  a  farmer,  and  Russell  mist 
stay  here  and  keep  care  of  you." 

"There  will  be  several  years  before  we  fecide 
about  that.  I  expect  to  depend  on  you  for  ?  long 
time  yet,  Uncle  Henry,"  Mrs.  Falconer  repljtd. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  got  to  go.  D.  V.,  Grandi/other. 
All  the  while  I  was  sick,  I  could  hear  a  voicdcalling 
to  me:  'Go  seek — D.  V.,  go  seek.'  And  (  said: 
'Give  me  back  my  strength,  Lord,  and  I'll  go  I  can't 
go  back  on  my  promise  to  the  Lord,  Miss  Laura," 
pleaded  the  colored  man. 

"You're  not  well,  yet,  Henry.  I  shall  sind  Rus- 
sell to  read  to  you.  Then,  you  had  betteifgo  back 
to  bed  before  you  get  too  tired." 

Russell  came  out  and  was  requested  to  read  the 
twentieth  chapter  of  II  Kings,  the  story  of  Heze- 
kiah. 

"I  read  that  to  you  yesterday,"  said  Russell. 

"I  want  to  hear  it  again,  'cause  it  is  jujt  my  case. 
Do  you  think  I'd  be  sitting  here  gettiig  well  if 
Grandmother  hadn't  prayed  for  me?  Just  like 
Hezekiah,  I  turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  wept, 
and,  sure,  Marse  Russell,  sure,  my  life  is  len'thened 
fifteen  years,"  averred  Henry,  fixing  a  searching, 
questioning  gaze  on  the  face  of  the  boy.  "She 
prays,  I  work.  Some  day,  D.  V. !"  He  dropped 
his  head  on  his  chest  and  listened  to  the  reading  of 
the  Scripture. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VARENA. 

Two  years  have  passed.  It  is  the  season  of  berry- 
picking.  There  is  a  point  on  top  of  the  hills  back 
of  Finden,  from  which  can  be  seen  the  towns  eight 
and  twenty  miles  distant.  To  the  west,  the  Ohio 
River  winds  in  and  out  among  its  picturesque  hills 
and  valleys.  The  luxuriant  tobacco-fields  glow 
richly  in  the  noonday  sun;  the  herds  of  cattle,  satis- 
fied with  the  morning's  grazing,  peacefully  chew 
their  cud  in  the  shade  of  the  locust-trees  that  clus- 
ter on  the  hillside;  flocks  of  sheep  nibble  at  the 
roots  of  grass,  or  pant  in  the  warmth  of  the  sum- 
mer heat;  the  squirrels  flit  from  tree  to  tree,  and 
the  birds  carol  to  their  mates. 

Early  in  the  morning,  Varena  Farnam  and  Jennie, 
the  housemaid,  laden  with  baskets  of  edibles,  rode 
up  the  hill  on  old  Mazeppa.  Russell,  Ralph,  and 
Jim,  the  chore-boy,  walked  up  and  carried  empty 
pails.  A  grassy  plot,  under  a  shady  maple-tree  on 
the  summit  of  the  high  hill,  was  chosen  as  the  place 
for  the  picnic  dinner.  A  few  hours  of  industry  and 
all  the  buckets  were  filled  with  luscious,  ripe  black- 
berries. Then,  while  Jim  was  building  a  little  fur- 
nace to  boil  the  coffee  and  Jennie  was  spreading  the 
dinner,  Russell  and  Ralph  stretched  themselves  on 
the  grass  for  a  snooze.  Varena  wandered  away 
through  the  woods.  She  loved  to  talk  to  the  trees, 
and  imagine  they  nodded  in  assent,  or  shook  in  dis- 
approval; she  delighted  in  mimicking  the  birds,  or 
in  trying  to  teach  them  a  new  note;  and  she  was 

23, 


24  GRANDMOTHER 

happy  in  gathering  wild  flowers  and  chasing  the 
squirrels.  She  followed  a  tiny  brown  fellow  down 
through  a  ravine  and  up  to  a  large  tree  that  stood 
out  alone  on  the  top  of  an  adjoining  hill. 

By  the  time  dinner  was  ready,  the  boys  were 
ravenously  hungry;  for  their  appetites  were  sharp- 
ened by  the  aroma  of  coffee,  the  odor  of  fried 
chicken,  the  smell  of  fruit,  and  the  stimulus  of  fresh- 
air  exercise.  As  their  sister  had  not  returned,  they 
started  in  opposite  directions  to  seek  her. 

"Varena!  Varena!"  called  Ralph,  as  he  sought 
her  through  the  forest.  "If  you  are  hid  and  want 
us  to  find  you,  please  show  up  till  after  dinner.  I'm 
too  hungry  to  play  hide-and-seek  now."  Cheer- 
fully, he  hunted,  in  the  bushes,  behind  the  logs,  and 
under  the  leaves,  without  success.  Again,  he  called, 
"Varena!  Varena!" 

A  gay  ripple  of  laughter  floated  down  to  him 
from  above.  He  looked  up  and  saw  his  sister  sil- 
houetted against  the  sky,  in  the  top  of  a  large  tree 
that  stood  alone  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine. 
One  foot  was  resting  on  a  bough,  the  other,  swing- 
ing; one  hand  was  holding  to  a  branch,  and  with  the 
other,  she  threw  kisses  at  him,  saying: 

"I  am  going  to  be  a  dryad  and  live  in  this  tree. 
Ha,  ha !  You  can't  get  me,  this  is  my  tree." 

"O  Varena,"  cried  Ralph,  "you  venturesome 
girl!  You'll  fall  and  get  killed."  He  was  so  dis- 
tressed, he  clenched  his  hands  and  held  his  breath, 
wondering  what  had  become  of  Russell,  who  always 
knew  the  right  thing  to  do  in  an  emergency.  "No, 
Sister;  don't  try  to  come  down.  If  you  move,  you'll 
fall.  I'll  climb  up  and  help  you." 

She  laughed  merrily,  saying:  "I  can  climb  where 
I  please.  If  you  cross  the  ravine,  I'll  jump.  O,  it's 
glorious  up  here." 

But  she  swung  her  foot  a  little  too  far:  she  lost 
her  balance,  the  twig  snapped  in  her  hand,  and  she 


GRANDMOTHER  25 

came  crashing  through  the  branches.  Ralph  was 
on  the  spot  in  a  moment,  and,  to  his  surprise,  he 
found  Russell  lying  on  the  ground  unconscious,  and 
Varena  bending  over  him. 

"I've  killed  him!   I've  killed  him!"  cried  the  girl. 

"He  will  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  Ralph  con- 
soled. "It  takes  more  than  a  tumble  to  knock  Russ 
out." 

"I  saw  him  over  the  hill,"  continued  Varena; 
"but  I  didn't  think  he  could  see  me.  He  must  have 
come  up  behind  the  bushes  and  got  here  just  as  I 
fell.  Why  don't  you  do  something,  Ralph?" 

"His  heart  is  all  right.  Hello!  Russell,  wake 
up."  They  lifted  him  to  an  upright  position  and  he 
opened  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  asked  Varena. 

"No.     Are  you?"  Russell  returned. 

"The  dryads  pulled  my  hair  awfully,"  said  Va- 
rena, arranging  her  curls;  "but  I'm  glad  you're  not 
hurt.  Why  didn't  you  get  out  of  the  way?" 

"Because  I  wanted  to  break  your  fall.  I  didn't 
know  that  your  knees  are  like  two  baseballs,"  re- 
plied Russell,  smiling. 

"If  you  are  both  all  right,  let's  hie  away  to  din- 
ner. I'm  hungry,"  Ralph  suggested. 

The  meal  proved  enjoyable,  notwithstanding  this 
little  episode,  though  Varena  appeared  less  frolic- 
some than  she  had  been  in  the  morning.  A  few 
original  jokes  and  trite  conundrums  kept  the  spirit 
of  mirth  awake  until  the  conversation  drifted  into 
the  more  serious  contemplation  of  the  prospect  of 
college  life. 

"It  will  be  lonely  for  you,  Sister,  when  we  go 
to  the  university  this  fall,"  Russell  suggested. 

"You  will  have  a  jollier  time  in  town  than  you 
would  going  with  us,  Sister,"  averred  Ralph,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"If  I  went  with  you,  Grandmother  would  be  lone- 


26  GRANDMOTHER 

some,"  Varena  replied,  softly.  "And  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  town  either  until  I  can  start  in  the  high  school. 
I'd  rather  study  at  home." 

"Two  years  in  the  preparatory  and  four  in  col- 
lege is  a  long  time  to  keep  studying,"  groaned 
Ralph.  "And  what's  the  use  of  it?  I'm  a  natural- 
born  gentleman  of  the  old  Kentucky  type,  and  I 
intend  to  take  life  easy." 

"You  have  to  be  a  banker,"  Varena  declared. 

"So  Grandmother  says.  You  don't  like  to  work 
on  the  farm  any  better  than  I  do,  Russ.  Do  you?" 

"I  don't  object  to  the  farm;  but  I  would  like  to 
live  in  a  large  city  for  a  while.  I'd  like  to  travel, 
and  see  the  skyscrapers  and  monuments,  and  big 
union  stations,  and  large  libraries  and  museums  and 
zoological  gardens.  Life  in  a  city  must  be  always 
interesting,  never  monotonous.  There  you  can  hear 
fine  lectures  and  beautiful  music,"  said  Russell,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"And  spend  a  lot  of  money,"  laughed  Ralph. 
"What  would  you  like,  Sister?" 

"I'd  love  to  sing  and  play  and  paint  and  be " 

"Be  what?"  teased  Ralph.  "Grandmother  says 
'a  woman's  highest  mission  is  to  be  a  good  man's 
faithful  wife  1" 

Her  eyes  shone  with  a  deeper  blue  as  she  winked 
the  tears  away,  and  said  softly,  "Be  always  good, 
just  like  Grandmother." 

"You  needn't  cry,  Pet,"  said  Ralph.  "Nobody 
on  earth  can  be  as  good  as  Grandmother."  There 
was  a  very  tender  chord  vibrating  in  his  heart  when 
he  called  his  sister  Pet.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  to  a  pile  of  hay,  saying:  "Mighty 
few  fellows  know  what  it  is  to  have  our  grand- 
mother. I  believe  Mamma  was  just  like  her.  Don't 
you,  Pet?" 

"Let  me  go,  Ralph.     Mamma  used  to  ride  old 


GRANDMOTHER  27 

Mazeppa,"  she  replied,  pulling  away  from  her 
brother  and  going  to  where  the  horse  was  making 
his  dinner  off  the  savory  grass.  She  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  petted  and  talked  to  him,  until 
preparations  to  start  home  were  completed. 

Jennie  was  put  on  the  old  family  horse  with  the 
hamper  of  picnic  remnants  in  front  of  her;  Varena 
on  behind  her,  back  to  back,  insisted  on  having  the 
largest  bucket  of  berries.  This,  she  balanced  on 
old  Mazeppa's  rump,  and  the  procession  started 
down  the  hill  through  the  woods.  They  followed  a 
sheep  path  that  zigzagged  under  the  trees,  making 
the  descent  easier  for  the  horse.  Ralph  lingered  be- 
hind, in  order  to  take  a  short  cut  down  the  steep 
hill  and  meet  them  as  they  came  out  into  the  open 
pasture. 

Suddenly,  their  idle  prattle  was  hushed  by  an  un- 
earthly yell;  and,  looking  up  the  hill,  they  saw  Ralph 
spring  into  the  air,  above  the  brush  and  briers,  and 
sail  toward  them  like  a  flying-machine.  Pie  com- 
passed a  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  struck 
the  ground  with  his  heels,  rolled  over  his  pail  of 
berries,  and  arose  with  a  pale  face,  and  staring  eyes, 
and  a  red  shirt. 

"What's  the  matter?  Marse  Ralph,  you  look  like 
you  had  had  a  fight  with  the  old  boy  hi'self,"  said 
Jim,  running  to  his  aid. 

In  racing  down  the  hill,  Ralph  had  almost  run 
on  an  enormous  snake,  coiled  ready  to  strike.  Ow- 
ing to  the  speed  with  which  he  was  moving,  he  was 
unable  to  stop;  and,  with  great  presence  of  mind, 
he  gave  a  tremendous  leap,  landing  on  his  heels 
and  rolling  over  his  bucket  of  berries. 

In  the  excitement  over  Ralph,  Jennie  rode  under 
a  tree,  and,  lifting  a  limb  to  pass  it  back  over  their 
heads,  miscalculated,  and  it  came  down  between 
them  and  gracefully  pushed  Varena  and  her  bucket 


28  GRANDMOTHER 

off  the  tail  of  tbe  horse,  spilling  the  berries  over 
the  grass.  It  was  so  neatly  done,  they  all  roared 
with  laughter. 

While  the  boys  were  picking  up  as  many  of  the 
berries  as  were  not  crushed  or  soiled,  Varena  took 
a  handful  of  fruit  and  strayed  toward  a  flock  of 
sheep  to  see  if  they  would  eat  from  her  hand.  She 
was  a  great  lover  of  animals  and  had  no  fear  of 
them;  consequently,  she  was  wofully  surprised  when 
a  big  buck  sheep  came  fiercely  toward  her.  She  was 
standing  above  him  on  the  hillside,  and  did  not  com- 
prehend his  evil  design  until  his  head  went  between 
her  knees.  Her  skirts  caught  over  his  head,  blind- 
ing and  frightening  him  so  that  he  whirled,  and 
away  he  ran,  with  her  on  top  of  him,  down  the  hill, 
over  the  brook,  up  the  ravine.  She  clung  to  him, 
crying  and  laughing,  her  curls  flying,  her  large  eyes 
staring,  afraid  to  let  go  and  tumble  lest  he  turn 
and  stamp  her.  She  enjoyed  the  joke  on  the  sheep, 
for  she  believed  the  boys  would  rescue  her. 

Ralph's  nerves  were  completely  unstrung  by  his 
narrow  escape  from  the  venomous  snake;  so  that, 
when  he  saw  his  sister  a  second  time  in  danger  of 
her  life,  he  could  only  sink  to  the  ground,  pointing 
toward  her,  saying,  "O  Russ!" 

Russell  gazed  at  the  queer  object  racing  around 
the  field  several  minutes  before  he  realized  what  it 
was.  Then,  he  was  after  them  like  the  wind. 

"Don't  let  go  till  I  say  when,"  he  called. 

The  sheep  circled  and  he  made  a  spring  and 
missed  them.  Varena  laughed  faintly;  she  was  los- 
ing her  strength,  though  not  her  courage.  The  sec- 
ond time  the  buck  circled  near  Russell,  he  called, 
"Now!"  and  caught  her  in  his  left  arm,  and,  with 
the  right,  struck  the  sheep  with  a  club  that  he  never 
knew  where,  or  how,  he  got  possession  of.  The  old 
leader  of  the  herd  was  too  frightened  to  wage  battle, 


GRANDMOTHER  29 

but  shook  himself  and  scampered  up  the  hill  to 
where  his  companions  stood  watching  him  in  meek 
wonder. 

When  Varena  had  recovered  from  a  spell  of  hys- 
terical laughter,  she  was  placed  on  the  horse  behind 
Jennie,  and  the  procession  again  headed  for  home. 
Supper  was  ready  and  Mrs.  Falconer  anxiously 
waiting  when  the  dishevelled,  besmeared  company, 
with  their  depleted  pails,  appeared.  After  the 
grandmother  was  assured  that  no  bones  were 
broken,  or  injuries  sustained,  they  were  sent  to  the 
bathroom  to  prepare  for  the  evening  meal.  Their 
appetites  had  been  satiated  with  berries,  and,  though 
they  occupied  their  accustomed  seats  at  the  table, 
the  food  was  neglected  in  the  more  enjoyable  excite- 
ment of  recounting  the  events  of  the  day. 

"An  ancestor  of  this  same  sheep,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "once  played  a  serious  trick  on  your  great- 
grandfather. He  had  an  artist  friend,  who  was  here 
making  sketches  of  the  different  views.  They  had 
walked  down  to  the  creek,  below  the  little  falls 
where  the  water  is  several  feet  deep,  and  were  stand- 
ing on  the  bank  with  their  backs  toward  the  brook. 
Father  was  commenting  on  the  beauties  of  the  land- 
scape, pointing  with  pride  at  the  rustling  corn-field, 
and  waving  his  hand  over  the  broad  meadow.  He 
was  unaware  of  the  approach  of  the  sheep,  which 
evidently  interpreted  his  gesticulations  as  a  banter, 
and,  in  a  quick  rush,  struck  him  square  in  the  stom- 
ach and  landed  him  in  the  pond.  The  painter  was 
so  frightened,  he  climbed  up  on  the  stone  pier  and 
yelled  like  a  schoolboy.  Uncle  Henry  went  to  the 
rescue.  He  found  father  unconscious.  All  that 
had  saved  him  from  drowning  was  the  fact  that  his 
head  rested  on  a  large  bowlder." 

"Was  it  the  sheep  that  knocked  him  senseless, 
or  the  stone?"  asked  Varena. 


30  GRANDMOTHER 

"Both,  perhaps,"  Mrs.  Falconer  replied. 

"Where  is  Uncle  Henry  now?"  questioned 
Ralph. 

"Porter  on  the  packet,"  stated  Mrs.  Falconer, 
reservedly. 

"Does  he  like  to  work  on  the  boats?"  asked  Va- 
rena. 

"I  think  he  will  come  home  when  he  gets  tired," 
answered  Grandmother. 

"I  wish  he  were  here  to  help  weed  my  pansy  bed. 
They  are  such  beauties." 

Varena  left  the  table,  and,  later,  came  out  on 
the  veranda  with  her  hands  full  of  her  favorite 
flowers;  little  yellow  faces,  brown  beauties,  black, 
white,  and  variegated  blossoms. 

Pressing  them  to  her  lips,  she  said:  "Tansies 
are  for  thoughts,  my  dear.'  '  She  dropped  them 
in  her  Grandmother's  lap,  and,  drawing  a  stool  up 
in  front  of  her,  sat  down  to  arrange  them  artis- 
tically, saying:  "They  always  make  me  think  of 
mamma.  When  I  was  a  very  little  girl,  you  used 
to  tell  me  how  my  mamma  loved  to  creep  out  to  the 
pansy  bed,  and  coo  and  prattle  to  the  pretty  faces, 
and,  once,  she  was  scared  at  a  big  brown  pansy,  be- 
cause it  looked  like  the  face  of  a  bulldog.  Look 
there,  Grandmother,  isn't  that  like  Jack  Lindley's 
dog?"  She  held  up  the  blossom,  smiling  at  the 
queer  resemblance. 

"When  the  boys  come  out,  I  will  tell  you  an  ex- 
perience I  had,  in  those  days  when  your  mamma 
loved  to  talk  to  the  flowers,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"We're  here,  Grandmother,"  Ralph  cried,  throw- 
ing himself  along  the  settee,  while  Russell  ensconced 
himself  in  a  rocker. 

"We  were  living  in  Michigan,  not  far  from  an 
Indian  reservation.  About  two  years  before,  the 
Gypsies  or  Indians  had  stolen  a  white  child,  and 
the  horror  of  it  was  still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the 


GRANDMOTHER  31 

people.  One  Thursday  afternoon,  your  mamma, 
dressed  in  a  dainty  white  dress,  with  a  gold  chain 
around  her  neck,  and  her  curls  tied  back  with  a 
bright  blue  ribbon,  which  made  her  appear  remark- 
ably beautiful,  sat  by  her  pansy  bed,  singing  and 
talking  to  the  flowers.  A  well-dressed  stranger 
walked  past  the  gate  and  stopped.  Leaning  on  the 
fence,  he  watched  the  child  for  some  time,  then 
went  away.  In  about  an  hour  he  came  back.  This 
time  I  was  sitting  where  I  could  get  a  better  view 
of  his  face,  and  I  did  not  like  it,  though  his  evident 
admiration  of  my  baby  was  gratifying  to  my  vanity. 
He  passed  back  and  forth  half  a  dozen  times,  fas- 
cinated by  the  child.  However,  we  went  in  to  sup- 
per, after  which  I  gave  her  a  bath  and  put  her  to 
bed  in  her  cradle  down  stairs  in  my  room. 

"Our  church  was  on  the  corner,  with  a  large  yard 
between  it  and  the  parsonage.  When  the  last  bell 
rang  for  prayer-meeting,  I  called  to  Anna,  the  serv- 
ant girl,  to  come  stay  with  Rolette  till  I  came  home. 
As  I  went  into  the  church  door,  I  glanced  back  and 
saw  that  the  light  was  still  burning  in  Anna's  room, 
and  I  knew  that  she  had  not  gone  down.  Many  of 
the  people  were  in  their  seats,  and  I  went  to  the 
organ  and  played  the  first  hymn.  Then,  your  grand- 
father read  a  whole  chapter  from  the  Scriptures. 
Truly,  I  think  it  was  the  longest  one  in  the  Bible,  and 
I  did  not  hear  a  word  of  it.  First,  I  began  to  im- 
agine Anna  up-stairs  reading  her  novel;  then,  I 
could  just  see  that  old  Gypsy  stealing  in  and  carry- 
ing off  my  baby.  I  was  hoping  that  a  young  girl, 
who  sometimes  played  the  organ  for  me,  would 
come  in,  and  I  could  slip  out  without  subjecting  the 
service  to  any  interruption  or  annoyance.  She  did 
not  come,  and  your  grandfather  began  to  pray;  I 
am  sure  he  never  left  any  corner  of  the  globe  un- 
prayed  for  that  night.  He  had  no  knowledge  of 
the  agony  that  I  was  suffering,  picturing  my  beauti- 


32  GRANDMOTHER 

ful  baby  miles  and  miles  away  in  the  dense  forest 
that  spreads  through  northern  Michigan,  yet  not 
daring  to  disturb  the  service,  for,  in  that  Holland 
community,  they  had  once  let  their  town  burn  up, 
rather  than  break  up  the  religious  worship.  We 
were  anticipating  a  protracted  meeting;  and,  full  of 
the  Spirit,  your  grandfather  prayed  for  our  church 
and  all  the  churches  in  the  town,  the  Sunday-schools 
and  Endeavor  Society,  the  League  and  the  B.  Y. 
P.  U. ;  the  Presbytery  and  Conference  and  Asso- 
ciation; the  State,  the  General  Assembly,  and  the 
President  and  ruling  officers  of  Church  and  State; 
the  missionary  fields;  Persia,  India,  Morocco,  Kon- 
go, Korea,  China,  Japan,  Cuba,  Brazil,  Dutch 
Guiana,  Boliva,  Venezuela;  then  up  again  to  Rus- 
sia, Siberia,  Poland,  Burma;  then  back  to  Salt  Lake 
and  the  Mormons;  and  he  even  dropped  down  here 
to  old  Kentucky,  and  prayed  for  the  mountain 
whites  and  the  freedmen.  Such  an  agonizing  of  soul 
as  I  went  through,  none  but  a  mother  can  know." 

UO  hurry  up,  Grandmother,"  urged  Ralph.  "Did 
the  Gypsy  get  mamma?  If  he  did,  you  rescued  her, 
else  we  wouldn't  be  here  now." 

"Well,  your  grandfather  did  finally  say  'amen,' 
and  I  motioned  to  Genevieve,  who  had  come  in,  to 
come  to  the  organ,  and  I  started  for  home.  I  had 
grown  so  pale  under  the  suspense  I  was  enduring 
that  the  folks  thought  I  must  be  very  sick,  and 
three  or  four  of  the  ladies  started  out  after  me. 
Their  husbands,  fearing  I  was  about  to  faint  and 
would  need  their  strength  to  carry  me  home,  fol- 
lowed their  wives.  Of  course,  everybody's  thoughts 
were  with  us,  and  the  meeting  was  fairly  at  an  end. 
I  rushed  into  my  room,  and  there  sat  Anna  by  the 
side  of  the  cradle,  reading  her  novel  and  the  baby 
sleeping  as  sweet  as  any  cherub." 

"Good  gracious,  Grandmother!  I'll  bet  you  felt 
ashamed  to  go  back  and  meet  the  prayer-meeting 


GRANDMOTHER  331 

crowd  that  was  coming  after  you,"  Ralph  exclaimed. 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  disgust  on 
the  face  of  one  old  elder,  when,  in  answer  to  his 
query,  'What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Falconer?'  I  re- 
plied: 'I  was  afraid  somebody  had  stolen  my 
baby.'  " 

The  old  homestead,  where  books  and  music  were 
conned  under  Mrs.  Falconer's  careful  supervising, 
the  fields  and  flowers,  hills  and  woodland,  where  they 
hunted  and  played,  the  river  in  which  they  learned 
to  swim  and  to  boat,  were  not  all  the  influences  that 
had  part  in  the  development  of  the  characters  of 
the  orphans.  The  village  church  and  Sunday-school 
were  essential  elements  in  the  inculcating  of  a  spirit 
of  reverence  for  religion  and  sacred  things;  and 
their  social  life  was  limited  to  Sunday-school  picnics 
and  an  occasional  birthday  party.  But  Varena  built 
many  air-castles  about  the  lovely  times  she  would 
have  when  she  was  a  young  lady.  She  did  not  care 
anything  about  boys  now;  she  simply  wanted  to  run 
wild  and  romp  and  play  and  practise;  but,  some  time, 
she  would  have  sweethearts  galore.  For  the  pres- 
ent, her  heart  was  content  in  her  love  for  Grand- 
mother and  her  pleasure  in  her  music.  Whatever 
she  enjoyed  in  nature,  she  found  in  her  music.  She 
played  little  selections  from  Haydn's  "Seasons." 
In  one,  she  was  sure  she  could  hear  the  wind  teasing 
the  leaves  on  the  trees;  and  in  "A  Lowly  Cottage," 
she  could  hear  a  child  singing  a  tune  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  boiling  tea-kettle.  In  Mendelssohn's 
"Songs  Without  Words,  No.  38"  she  could  hear  a 
mermaid  singing,  as  she  sat  by  the  river's  brink 
and  tossed  pebbles  into  the  water.  When  she  was 
studying  "Consolation,"  her  Grandmother  told  her 
that  she  had  somewhere  read,  that  Mendelssohn  was 
inspired  to  write  "Consolation"  by  overhearing  a  con- 
versation between  a  saintly  old  lady  and  a  beautiful 
girl.  The  girl  was  troubled  and  impatient  over 


34  GRANDMOTHER 

some  of  her  love  affairs,  and,  when  she  would  try  to 
relieve  her  heart  by  giving  her  confidence  to  the  old 
lady,  she  received  for  reply  each  time,  the  one  soft, 
consoling  strain. 

"Will  it  be  that  way  with  us,  Grandmother,  when 
I  am  grown  up?  Shall  I  have  lots  of  lovers,  who 
will  make  trouble,  and  I'll  come  and  tell  you  and 
be  comforted?"  asked  Varena. 

"I  hope  you  may  never  have  any  trouble,  dear, 
and  just  one  true  lover,"  Mrs.  Falconer  replied. 

"O  that  wouldn't  be  any  fun.  I  want  to  be  ter- 
ribly heartbroken  and  miserable,  not  knowing  which 
one  I  love  best.  Of  course,  they  will  all  love  me. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Grandmother?"  asked  the  child. 

"Your  future  may  be  very  different  from  what 
you  imagine,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "Come,  play 
your  favorite  for  me  and  I  shall  rest  and  listen." 

"I'll  play  'Cabaletta,'  Do  you  know  'Cabaletta' 
is  the  Italian  for  a  little  horse,  Grandmother?  Now 
listen  and  you  can  hear  the  feet  of  the  little  Shet- 
land pony  clatter  over  the  street  paved  with  as- 
phalt." The  child  was  filled  with  ecstasy  over  the 
sound  of  the  little  feet  that  she  could  so  perfectly 
mimic  on  the  piano. 

Ralph's  musical  qualification  was  limited  to  a 
good  tenor  voice,  which  he  used  as  a  member  of  the 
village  choir.  Russell  was  a  natural-born  musician, 
and,  at  the  end  of  four  years  he  had  gone  beyond 
his  teacher.  His  grasp  of  technique  and  comprehen- 
sion of  the  soul  of  music,  his  insight  into  the  mind  of 
the  composer,  and  his  power  of  interpretation  were 
remarkable.  His  ability  to  improvise  made  him 
an  admirable  organist.  He  played  for  church  serv- 
ices in  the  town  and  arranged  to  pay  part  of  his  col- 
lege expenses  by  playing  for  chapel  exercises. 

The  time  was  approaching  when  the  boys  were 
to  leave  home  for  six  years  of  boarding-school  life. 
Varena  was  to  continue  her  studies  with  her  grand- 


GRANDMOTHER  35 

mother.  The  separation  would  be  painful  for  all, 
but  best  in  the  end;  for  Mrs.  Falconer  felt  that  she 
could  no  longer  do  justice  to  the  young  men.  Be- 
sides, it  was  necessary  for  them  to  come  in  contact 
with  other  minds  and  interests  to  broaden  their  ca- 
pacity for  usefulness.  One  great  source  of  regret 
to  Varena  was  in  not  having  her  brothers  to  go 
swimming  with  her. 

Often,  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  her  grandchildren 
and  Jim  and  Jennie,  and  occasionally  some  of  the 
neighbor  boys  and  girls,  would  go  down  under  the 
river  bank,  build  a  fire,  swim  and  boat,  and  ride 
the  waves  of  a  passing  steamer,  dress  in  a  little 
tent,  eat  supper  on  the  beach,  and  go  home  to  a 
happy,  healthful  night  of  slumbers.  Varena  could 
swim,  dive,  float,  and  tread  water  the  same  as  the 
boys.  They  had  taken  more  pleasure  in  training  her 
than  in  performing  feats  themselves,  and  they  were 
very  proud  of  her  water-sport  ability.  She  had  an 
occasion  to  reward  their  labors  one  evening  in  this 
last  summer  of  their  childhood;  such  it  might  be 
called  for  things  never  seemed  quite  the  same,  after 
the  boys  returned  from  college. 

They  were  alone  on  the  beach  with  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, when  Russell  and  Ralph  determined  to  swim 
across  the  river  and  back.  They  made  the  opposite 
shore  very  comfortably;  but  Ralph  was  so  tired  he 
was  afraid  to  start  back,  and  Russell,  wishing  to 
make  the  round  trip,  started  to  swim  back  and  take 
the  skiff  over  after  his  brother.  He  did  not  realize 
that  he  was  winded,  until  he  was  near  the  Kentucky 
shore,  where  the  water  was  very  deep.  Varena  was 
paddling  in  the  water,  watching  him  with  pride,  and 
shaking  her  hand  toward  Ralph,  as  a  vanquished 
swimmer  when  Russell  disappeared  so  quickly  she 
held  her  breath  in  surprise,  watching  here  and  there 
for  his  head  to  appear.  He  came  up  and  down 
again;  then,  under  she  went  after  him.  Mrs.  Fal- 


36  GRANDMOTHER 

coner  sprang  into  the  little  boat,  secured  the  oars, 
and  was  soon  out  in  the  river  and  down  below  some 
distance,  to  be  ready  where  the  current  would  carry 
them.  Seconds  seemed  minutes,  and  minutes  hours, 
till  the  brave  little  girl  came  to  the  surface,  pulling 
the  boy  with  her.  He  appeared  to  have  strangled 
and  was  black  in  the  face.  Varena  caught  hold  of 
the  boat  with  one  hand  and  held  on  to  Russell  with 
the  other.  Mrs.  Falconer  was  rowing  for  the  shore 
when  she  heard  a  cry  for  help  from  Ralph.  He  had 
seen  the  trouble  and  started  to  swim  to  the  rescue 
and  was  almost  exhausted. 

"Can  you  hold  on,  Varena,  if  I  turn  back  for 
Ralph?"  cried  Mrs.  Falconer. 

The  child  nodded  her  head.  She  could  not  find 
her  voice.  Mrs.  Falconer  prayed  and  pulled. 
Ralph  kept  in  sight  till  he  grabbed  the  oar,  then 
rested  a  moment,  caught  the  side  of  the  skiff,  and 
soon  had  an  arm  around  Russell. 

"Get  in  yourself,"  said  Varena.     "I'm  all  right." 

Ralph  climbed  in,  and,  together,  they  got  Russell 
up  and  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Varena  would 
not  let  him  take  time  to  help  her  in,  and  he  began 
working  over  his  brother.  He  had  seen  boys  resus- 
citated and  knew  what  to  do;  and  before  they 
reached  the  shore,  Russell  opened  his  eyes.  After 
all  danger  was  passed  Varena  buried  her  face  in 
her  grandmother's  lap  and  cried. 

"Well,  Grandmother,"  said  Ralph,  when  they 
were  able  to  start  home,  "  'all  things  work  together 
for  good,'  you  say.  Where  do  you  find  good  in  to- 
day's catastrophe?" 

"Surely  it  is  good  that  we  are  all  alive,  when  I 
might  have  been  deprived  of  all  three  of  you  at 
once.  Since  we  are  alive,  I  am  glad  it  happened 
as  it  did.  You  boys  have  always  wanted  to  swim  the 
river.  You  are  satisfied  now,  and  I  can  feel  at  ease 
about  you  when  you  are  away  at  school.  This  expe- 


GRANDMOTHER  37 

rience  will  be  a  lesson  not  soon  forgotten.  You  will 
not  run  the  risk  again,  especially  where  Varena  is 
not  near  to  save  you." 

"We  owe  our  live  to  you,  little  Sister,"  said  Rus- 
sell. 

"You  all  owe  your  preservation  to  Him  who  com- 
manded 'the  waves  to  be  still,'  "  Mrs.  Falconer  cor- 
rected. 

"Well,  as  Uncle  Henry  would  say,  I  am  'power- 
ful' thankful  that  we  are  pretty  good  swimmers," 
Ralph  replied. 

"Indeed,  I  am  grateful  to  have  escaped  such  a 
tragedy,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"But  it  ended  in  comedy,"  laughed  Ralph,  "or 
tragicomic." 

"With  you  children,  the  greater  the  danger,  the 
more  keenly  you  enjoy  the  sensation  of  recalling  it. 
Not  so  with  me;  I  can't  allow  any  more  swimming 
this  fall.  I  can  not  think  of  the  river  without  a 
feeling  of  dread,  and  yet  of  gratitude  that  the 
waters  did  not  overwhelm  my  soul,"  Mrs.  Falconer 
added. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Experience  join'd  to  common  sense, 
To  mortals  is  a  Providence." 

The  first  two  years  of  life  spent  at  Danboro  Uni- 
versity were  uneventful,  as  far  as  anything  out  of 
the  ordinary  occurring.  Russell  and  Ralph  Farnam 
matriculated  as  other  students;  and,  being  in  the 
preparatory  department,  they  were  not  subjected  to 
very  severe  hazing.  The  blanket-tossing,  pump- 
soaking  and  snipe-hunting  were  endured  stoically 
and  satisfied  their  comrades  that  they  possessed  suf- 
ficient grit  to  hold  a  place  among  them.  Russell 
was  the  handsomer  of  the  two  boys,  and  perhaps  the 
stronger  character;  and  his  position,  as  chapel  or- 
ganist, gave  him  advantages  from  which  he  could 
have  profited;  but  his  retiring  disposition,  his  pecu- 
liar atmosphere  of  reserve  and  his  dignified  repell- 
ing of  advances,  cut  him  off  from  the  social  life  of 
the  institute.  His  conception  of  girls  was  like  that 
of  a  beautiful  picture,  poem,  or  piece  of  music — 
something  to  be  studied,  analyzed  and  enjoyed  as  a 
thing  apart.  His  letters  to  his  grandmother  contained 
descriptions  of  the  town,  the  University  buildings, 
the  campus  and  groves  along  the  little  river,  the 
country  and  huge  mountains  in  the  distance;  char- 
acter sketches  of  the  professors,  their  work  and  idio- 
syncrasies. To  Varena,  he  wrote  of  music,  often 
interpreting  a  new  piece  for  her,  and  always  wish- 
ing she  were  with  him  in  the  enjoyment  of  some 
opera  or  oratorio.  Ralph's  letters  abounded  in  epi- 
sodes, narrow  escapes,  and  daring  achievements. 

38 


GRANDMOTHER  39 

He  was  gay,  happy,  and  debonair,  and  popular  with 
all  classes.  He  was  the  beau-ideal  of  the  girls  at 
the  Seminary,  a  paragon  for  the  boys  in  the  Academy, 
and  a  favorite  with  his  instructors.  However,  the 
brothers  seemed  to  progress  equally  well  in  their 
studies.  At  the  end  of  each  semester,  they  passed 
their  examinations  and  were  promoted;  so,  that, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  third  year,  they  entered  col- 
lege as  regular  freshmen. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Mrs.  Falconer  relegated 
to  the  garret  the  little  desks  and  blackboard  that  had 
made  the  schoolroom  at  Finden  a  sacred  place  to 
her.  Tender  memories  of  childhood  days  clung 
round  each  tablet  and  book.  Still,  it  was  with  pride 
that  she  saw  her  granddaughter  mount  her  pony 
and  ride  into  town  to  enter  the  village  high  school. 
Her  advent  created  a  sensation;  for  Varena  Far- 
nam,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  girl  of  fourteen, 
trained  in  the  seclusion  of  a  country  home,  where 
morality,  gentility,  and  punctilious  behavior  formed 
an  important  item  in  the  curriculum,  was  no  small 
factor  in  a  community.  Under  the  new  environ- 
ments, her  nature  was  aroused  to  an  impetuous 
activity,  and  emotions  that  hitherto  had  lain  dor- 
mant were  quickened  into  being.  The  novelty  of 
contact  with  a  host  of  boys  and  girls  added  spice  to 
her  life;  and  her  overflow  of  good-humored  vivacity 
drew  around  her  a  coterie  of  the  brightest  scholars. 
She  was  ignorant  of  the  admiration  and  envy  that 
she  excited,  and  abandoned  herself  to  the  full  en- 
joyment of  competition — proud  of  the  accuracy 
with  which  her  early  training  enabled  her  to  grasp 
and  solve  her  problems,  and  quick  to  rise  to  an 
emergency. 

On  one  occasion,  the  duty  of  a  recitation  had  been 
assigned  to  Varena  as  a  part  of  the  program  for 
the  Friday  afternoon  exercise.  She  simply  forgot 
all  about  it.  When  her  name  was  called,  she  looked 


40  GRANDMOTHER 

up  for  a  moment,  dazed.  Then,  intuitively  divin- 
ing that  there  was  a  desire  on  the  part  of  some  that 
she  should  fail,  she  drew  down  her  forehead  in 
anxious  contemplation,  and,  the  next  instant,  walked 
firmly  up  on  the  rostrum  and  repeated  the  longest 
rule  in  arithmetic.  She  spoke  it  perfectly,  made  a 
little  courtesy,  and  returned  to  her  seat.  Some  of 
the  scholars  giggled,  but  the  majority  applauded 
heartily.  The  principal  of  the  school  had  taken  a 
dislike  to  Varena,  because  she  often  solved  a  prob- 
lem so  readily  that  it  placed  him  at  a  disadvantage; 
and  he  resolved  to  use  this  circumstance  to  her  hu- 
miliation. The  F.  F.  K. — as  the  Farnam  family 
of  Kentucky  was  called — was  too  influential  for  the 
child  to  be  dealt  with  summarily;  so  it  was  not  until 
the  regular  meeting  that  this  audacious  conduct  was 
placed  before  the  school  board.  The  unpopular 
principal  was  deeply  chagrined  when  it  was  decided 
that  a  comprehensive  rendering  of  a  rule  in  arithme- 
tic or  algebra  is  of  more  benefit  to  the  pupil  than 
the  committing  of  simple  rhymes,  however  pretty  or 
poetical. 

Before  Varena  was  again  on  duty,  she  had  the 
pleasure  of  attending  a  church  entertainment,  in 
which  an  elocutionist,  from  the  City  Lecture  Bureau, 
gave  some  very  dramatic  readings.  The  girl  was 
fascinated;  and,  being  a  natural  mimic,  she  anxiously 
awaited  an  opportunity  to  display  her  own  ability 
along  this  line.  The  occasion  came  at  the  close  of 
the  winter  term,  and  the  schoolroom  was  filled  with 
visitors.  Varena  sat,  expectant,  in  her  seat,  her 
cheeks  burning  and  her  eyes,  like  lustrous  lapis-lazuli 
gems  between  two  American  Beauty  roses.  When 
her  turn  came,  she  took  her  position,  made  a  little 
graceful  movement  of  her  figure,  and  greeted  the 
audience  with  a  radiant  smile,  so  exactly  as  the  elo- 
cutionist had  done  that  the  imitation  was  at  once 


GRANDMOTHER  41 

recognized,  and  eager  faces  leaned  forward  to  be 
entertained.  She  announced  her  piece,  "In  Old 
Kentucky."  Then,  she  accompanied  every  thought 
with  its  appropriate  gesture,  neatly  as  a  trained 
artist,  and  with  the  graceful  affectation  of  senti- 
ment of  the  modern  reader.  Unaware  of  the  prin- 
cipal's hostile  feelings  toward  her,  she  addressed 
the  last  words  to  him,  bowed,  and  returned  to  her 
seat. 

In  Kentucky. 

"The  moonlight  is  the  softest 

In  Kentucky. 
Summer  days  come  oftest 

In  Kentucky. 

Friendship  is  the  strongest, 
Love's  fires  grow  the  longest, 
Yet,   a  wrong  is  always  wrongest, 

In  Kentucky. 

"The  sunshine's  ever  brightest 

In  Kentucky. 
The  breezes  whisper  lightest 

In  Kentucky. 

Plain  girls  are  the  fewest, 
Maiden's  eyes  are  the  bluest, 
Their  little  hearts  the  truest, 

In  Kentucky. 

"Life's  burdens  bear  the  lightest 

In  Kentucky. 
The  home  fires  burn  the  brightest 

In  Kentucky. 

While  the  players  are  the  keenest, 
Cards  come  out  the  meanest, 
The  pockets  empty  cleanest, 

In  Kentucky. 


42  GRANDMOTHER 

"Orators  are  the  grandest 

In  Kentucky. 
Officials  are  the  blandest 

In    Kentucky. 
Boys  are  all  the  flyest, 
Dangers  are  the  nighest, 
Taxes  are  the  highest, 

In  Kentucky. 

"The  bluegrass  waves  the  bluest 

In  Kentucky, 
Yet  bloodhounds  are  the  fewest   ( ?) 

In  Kentucky. 

Moonshine  is  the  clearest — 
By  no  means  of  the  dearest — 
And  yet  it  acts  the  queerest, 

In  Kentucky. 

"The  dove  notes  are  the  saddest 

In  Kentucky, 
The  streams  dance  on  the  gladdest 

In  Kentucky. 

Hip  pockets  are  the  thickest, 
Pistol  hands  are  slickest, 
Cylinders  turn  the  quickest, 

In  Kentucky. 

"Song  birds  are  the  sweetest 

In  Kentucky, 
Thoroughbreds  the  fleetest 

In  Kentucky. 

The  mountains   tower  proudest, 
Thunder  peals  the  loudest, 
The  landscape  is  the  grandest 
And  politics  the  est, 

In  Kentucky. 


GRANDMOTHER  43 

Varena  read  in  the  pleased  expression  of  her  lis- 
teners the  success  of  her  attempt  at  elocution,  and 
was  surprised  by  the  principal  abruptly  demanding 
a  copy  of  her  poem.  She  had  not  learned  of  his 
disapproval  of  her  reciting  "The  Rule  of  Cube 
Root"  and  she  would  have  been  gratified  to  know 
that,  a  second  time,  the  school  board  pronounced 
her  work  "well  done."  But  the  irate  professor 
took  the  matter  in  his  own  hands  and  gave  her  a 
severe  reprimand,  stating  positively  that,  the  next 
time  she  appeared  on  the  platform  she  must  speak 
a  simple  little  piece,  in  a  quiet  manner,  that  would 
be  more  suitable  for  a  modest  young  girl.  The  mat- 
ter soon  spread  among  the  indignant  students. 

Another  Friday  that  Varena  was  called  on,  she 
demurely  walked  to  her  position,  and,  without  a 
smile  or  a  sign  of  interest  or  enthusiasm,  looked  over 
the  faces  of  her  friends,  all  aglow  with  lively  antici- 
pation, and  soberly  spoke  the  whole  of  "Mary  had 
a  little  lamb."  One  had  only  to  look  into  her  deep, 
dark  eyes  to  know  that  a  volcano  of  emotion  was 
held  in  bounds  by  the  force  of  her  strong,  yet  gentle 
will.  This  time,  the  school  went  wild  with  enthu- 
siasm. They  crowded  around  her  during  the  inter- 
mission to  praise  and  congratulate  her. 

She  was  a  very  popular  girl;  still,  her  innocent 
good-fellowship  was  enigmatical  to  the  boys,  who 
would  rather  have  had  a  more  responsive  divinity 
for  the  object  of  their  admiration.  It  is  a  psycho- 
logical fact  that  the  young  woman  who  is  free  and 
easy  in  her  intercourse  with  the  stronger  sex  is  less 
given  to  succumb  to  the  tender  passion  than  one  who 
indulges  in  prudish  reserve. 

These  were  happy  school-days  for  Varena.  The 
little  pony  that  carried  her  back  and  forth  was  her 
most  beloved  companion;  and  the  hour  before  sup- 
per, when  she  sat  by  the  side  of  her  grandmother  on 


44  GRANDMOTHER 

the  big  veranda,  the  happiest  time  of  the  day.  It 
was  then  that  she  told  of  all  her  pleasures  and 
triumphs,  all  her  vexations  and  disappointments; 
and,  with  the  telling,  trouble  vanished  and  only 
pleasure  remained;  for  Mrs.  Falconer  was  able  to 
supplement  each  incident  narrated  with  some  per- 
sonal experience  that  would  have  a  tendency  to  off- 
set the  evil  and  make  stronger  the  better  influences. 
Detecting  in  her  granddaughter  an  enthusiastic  en- 
joyment of  the  admiration  of  the  boys,  and  fearing 
that  she  would  awaken  to  the  knowledge  that  ad- 
miration is  very  closely  allied  to  love,  she  endeav- 
ored to  forestall  the  result  by  adroitly  influencing 
her  mind,  in  giving  her  the  history  of  a  beautiful 
girl  whom  she  had  known  in  one  of  their  city  par- 
ishes, and  whose  frivolous  coquetry  had  marred  a 
beautiful  character. 

"Come,  Varena,  bring  a  cushion  for  the  back  of 
my  chair,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  true  story,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer,  one  day. 

"Tell  me  something  about  mamma,  Grand- 
mother. I'd  rather  hear  about  her  than  any  one 
else,"  Varena  pleaded,  adjusting  her  grandmother's 
chair  and  fixing  one  for  herself. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  a  young  lady  who  loved  your 
mamma,  when  she  was  a  young  girl  not  so  old  as 
you  are  now.  We  were  living  in  Louiston.  Your 
grandfather  was  pastor  of  Calvary  Church.  It 
seems,  as  I  look  back  to  those  times,  that  it  was 
the  most  beautiful  church,  the  prettiest  parsonage, 
and  the  most  enjoyable  pastorate  we  ever  had.  Your 
mamma  was  a  great  pet  with  the  church  people, 
especially  with  the  members  of  my  Bible  class,  who 
made  wealth,  education,  and  travel  the  criterion  of 
social  caste.  Among  the  members  of  my  class  were 
two  young  ladies,  inseparable  friends,  though  they 
were  as  unlike  as  darkness  and  daylight.  Luella 
Kendrick  was  small  of  stature,  with  straight  black 


GRANDMOTHER  45 

hair  that  could  not  be  done  artistically;  dark, 
gloomy  eyes,  a  sharp  voice  that  cut  through  com- 
pressed lips;  but  she  was  very  intellectual,  thor- 
oughly good,  and  a  noble,  conscientious  woman. 
Mabel  Murratt  was  tall,  lithe,  and  willowy;  com- 
plexion pure,  clear,  and  soft;  hair  of  a  light  brown, 
which  fell  in  little  waves  and  ringlets  over  a  broad 
forehead;  eyes,  the  kind  of  blue  in  liquid  depths 
that  are  always  craving  to  be  loved;  the  long  eye- 
lashes drooped  over  her  cheeks  like  a  shadow  from 
her  dark  eyebrows.  The  expression  was  like  Rus- 
sell's, save  that  his  eyes  are  brown.  The  contour 
of  her  face  and  throat  was  as  perfect  as  the  Greek 
Galatea." 

"Who  was  Galatea,  Grandmother?"  queried  Va- 
rena. 

"A  statue  of  a  beautiful  woman,  chiselled  out  of 
marble  by  Pygmalion,  King  of  Cyprus.  She  was 
so  perfect  and  so  exquisitely  human  that  the  King 
loved  her  and  prayed  to  the  gods  to  quicken  her 
with  life.  Don't  you  remember,  Russell  wrote  to 
you  of  hearing  Julia  Marlowe  in  the  play,  "Pygma- 
lion and  Galatea?" 

"O,  yes,  I  remember.  But,  Grandmother,  did 
every  one  love  Mabel,  and  no  one  love  Luella? 
And  which  one  loved  my  mamma?" 

"They  both  loved  your  mamma  and  gave  her 
beautiful  presents;  for  they  were  very  wealthy. 
Luella  was  too  exclusive  to  have  many  friends. 
Mabel  was  a  natural-born  coquette.  She  could  no 
more  help  it  than  she  could  change  the  aura  that 
surrounded  her.  Once  within  the  atmosphere  of 
her  winning  personality  and  there  was  no  hope  for 
man  or  boy." 

"And  don't  you  think  that  was  nice?  I  wish  I 
could  be  so  charming  that  everybody  would  love 
me,"  said  Varena,  thoughtfully. 

"If  I  could  make  you  realize  the  seriousness  of 


46  GRANDMOTHER 

genuine  love,  and  the  misery  of  unrequited  affec- 
tion, I  believe  you  would  take  back  your  wish.  You 
would  not,  for  the  gratification  of  personal  vanity, 
be  so  cruel  as  to  keep  men  hoping  and  longing  for 
that  which  they  could  never  attain,"  chided  Mrs. 
Falconer. 

"But  I  should  think,  Grandmother,  that  you 
would  have  to  let  them  love  you  long  enough  for 
you  to  decide  which  one  you  liked  best,"  Varena 
argued. 

"It  was  not  so  with  Miss  Mabel,"  continued  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "She  was  fascinated  with  the  ravishing 
sensation  of  her  own  adorableness;  with  knowing 
that  a  dozen  men  came  to  church  to  gaze  up  in  the 
choir-loft  at  her  lovely  face  and  listen  to  her  sweet 
voice;  with  the  fact  that  some  stood  on  the  street 
corner  for  hours  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she 
drove  past;  that,  when  she  lost  a  handkerchief,  it 
was  treasured  against  some  heart  as  a  souvenir." 

"And  didn't  she  care  for  any  of  them?" 

"Indeed  she  did,  though  her  foolish  coquetry 
almost  resulted  in  her  marrying  the  wrong  man," 
Mrs.  Falconer  replied.  "There  was  a  medical  stu- 
dent among  her  satellites — an  irreligious,  ambitious, 
young  man;  tall,  dark,  and  homely;  of  strong  per- 
sonality and  an  interesting  conversationalist;  cap- 
able of  loving  like  a  tyrant;  determined  on  possess- 
ing money  and  power.  He  was  visiting  in  the  home 
of  Miss  Luella,  whose  brother,  Richard,  he  had 
known  in  college,  when  he  met  Miss  Mabel;  and, 
soon  after,  he  decided  to  locate  in  Louiston.  The 
shrewd  tactics  that  he  pursued  led  Miss  Mabel  to 
believe  that  it  would  require  an  extra  exertion  on 
her  part  to  bring  him  to  acknowledge  her  suprem- 
acy; consequently,  she  exerted  her  powers  in  a  direct 
manner,  by  which  he  was  able  to  claim  that  she  had 
committed  herself  to  him;  then,  he  pressed  his  suit 
in  a  tyrannical  fashion.  In  fact,  he  so  dominated 


GRANDMOTHER  47 

her  that  she  was  afraid  to  refuse  him.  Mabel  was 
of  a  gentle,  clinging  disposition;  it  was  her  womanly 
dependableness  that  made  her  so  dear  to  the  heart 
of  every  man.  This  new  doctor  seemed  to  hypno- 
tize her,  so  that  she  came  under  his  influence  more 
and  more.  When  he  was  absent,  she  hated  him 
bitterly  and  dreaded  the  sight  of  him;  but,  the  mo- 
ment he  came  in  the  room  or  near,  her  will  was 
swayed  by  a  stronger  one,  her  gaiety  was  subordi- 
nated to  his  intellectual  mood;  her  affections  dor- 
mant under  his  over-mastering  passion." 

"Go  on,  Grandmother.     Think  out  loud,"  said 
Varena,  smiling. 

"Bonny  View  Boulevard,  like  Hyde  Park,  Lon- 
don, is  the  place  where  all  the  rich,  if  not  the  roy- 
alty, drive  during  the  summer  evenings.  The  view 
overlooks  the  river,  from  which  there  is  usually  a 
pleasant  breeze.  I  remember  very  well,  the  night 
they  drove  past  the  parsonage  on  their  way  to  the 
boulevard.  Miss  Mabel  waved  her  white-gloved 
hand  at  me;  and  she  told  me,  afterward,  that  my 
little  talismanic  expression,  'D.  V.',  flashed  across 
her  brain,  and  she  resolved,  the  Lord  willing,  she 
would  end  that  affaire  d' amour  during  the  ride,  one 
way  or  the  other.  The  doctor  entertained  her  with 
graphic  descriptions  of  travel,  interesting  reviews  of 
popular  novels,  and  positive  plans  for  the  future, 
assuming  that  she  was  to  marry  him." 

"What  was  the  doctor's  name,  Grandmother?" 
asked  Varena. 

"I  cannot  recall  it,  dear.  He  was  not  a  member 
of  our  church.  I  may  think  of  it  presently,"  Mrs. 
Falconer  answered,  endeavoring  to  recollect  the 
name. 

"And  did  she  marry  him?" 

"Miss  Mabel  had  a  strong  distaste  for  the  duties 
of  a  wife  and  mother.  She  did  not  want  to  marry 


48  GRANDMOTHER 

any  one.  She  luxuriated  in  dinners,  receptions, 
clubs,  balls,  the  opera,  golf,  and  tennis,  and  would 
not  risk  the  little  encumbrances  that  accompany  con- 
jugal felicity." 

"I  don't  know  what  that  means,  Grandmother," 
said  Varena. 

"Miss  Mabel  would  have  been  happy  in  having 
a  good,  kind  husband,"  explained  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"to  whom  she  could  turn  for  soothing  caresses, 
when  weary  of  the  excitement  of  social  functions, 
provided  he  would  not  require  her  to  be  burdened 
with  maternal  cares. 

"The  doctor  was  urging  her  to  name  the  day  for 
the  consummation  of  his  hopes,  and  she  was  de- 
bating in  her  own  mind  the  contingencies  of  a  long 
engagement,  when  they  rounded  a  corner  and  came 
face  to  face  with  Miss  Luella  and  her  brother. 
In  the  surprised  encounter,  each  read  the  other 
correctly.  Miss  Mabel's  heart  ceased  its  palpitat- 
ing, and  cold  shivers  ran  down  her  spine.  She  knew, 
intuitively,  that  Miss  Luella  loved  the  doctor.  Her 
innate  nobility  of  character  gave  her  strength  to 
resist  the  man  and  be  true  to  her  friend." 

"And  did  the  doctor  marry  Miss  Luella?"  asked 
Varena,  in  surprise. 

"Yes;  your  grandfather  performed  the  marriage 
ceremony  in  1876,  and  they  went  to  the  Centennial 
at  Philadelphia,  and  Miss  Mabel  and  Luella's 
brother,  Richard  went  with  them." 

"And,  of  course,  they  finally  married  and  lived 
happily  ever  after,"  laughed  Varena. 

"Richard  and  Miss  Mabel  had  always  loved 
each  other;  but  his  unexpressed  disapprobation  of 
the  things  she  enjoyed,  annoyed  her.  While  he  was 
like  a  good  brother,  caring  for  her,  and  often  shield- 
ing her  from  the  nuisance  of  some  assiduous  ad- 
mirer, he  was  patiently  waiting  for  her  to  become 
satiated  with  the  homage  of  the  crowd.  The  year 


GRANDMOTHER  49 

we  left  Louiston,  your  grandfather  officiated  at 
their  wedding,  and  your  mamma  was  one  of  the 
flower-girls.  I  often  wonder  if  they  have  'lived 
happy  ever  after.'  The  Doctor  had  a  garish  in- 
tellect and  an  evil  heart,  and  was  ambitious  and 
revengeful;  but  Richard  was  generous,  erudite,  and 
unsuspicious." 

"I  am  not  going  to  love  any  one,  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  loved;  then,  there'll  be  no  trouble,"  Varena 
announced.  "Now,  there  is  Ralph.  Russell  says 
he's  in  love  with  half  a  dozen  girls,  who  are  in 
love  with  him.  What  can  he  do?" 

"Ralph  is  not  serious.  That's  just  his  foolish- 
ness. He  will  quit  playing  with  girls  after  a  while, 
and  settle  down  like  a  man,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"But,  Grandmother,  that  was  the  way  with  Miss 
Mabel,  and  she  came  near  spoiling  her  own  life  and 
her  friend's,  too." 

"You  are  right,  Varena.  All  kind  of  flirting  is 
wrong.  It  will  mar  the  most  beautiful  character. 
I  want  you  to  live  for  something  better  and  nobler," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

Away  at  Danboro  College,  Russell  was  beginning 
to  be  seriously  concerned  about  his  brother.  Ralph 
was  not  satisfied  with  formal  calls  at  the  Seminary 
on  the  regular  reception  evenings:  he  must  meet 
the  girls  at  the  lectures,  pass  notes  during  class, 
happen  along  to  and  from  church;  and  be  out  night 
after  night,  walking  or  driving,  with  permission  or 
without,  it  mattered  not  to  him,  so  he  got  the  girl. 
Notwithstanding  his  dissipation,  he  was  gay  and 
happy,  making  good  grades  in  his  studies,  and  an- 
ticipating with  pleasure  the  summer  vacation. 

"Three  months  with  Grandmother  and  Sister, 
then  back  again  for  another  year  of  study  and 
pretty  girls,"  laughed  Ralph  to  Russell,  as  they 
boarded  the  train  for  home. 


50  GRANDMOTHER 

"I  can't  see  what  you  find  in  girls,"  said  Russell. 
"They  are  such  a  waste  of  time  and  energy." 

"Just  wait  till  you  fall  in  love  with  one,"  re- 
sponded Ralph;  "then,  you'll  see  how  impossible 
it  is  to  live  without  them." 

"But  you  love  a  dozen,"  continued  Russell,  in 
disgust. 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it;  they  are  so  confoundedly 
sweet  and  dear." 

"Still,  I  should  think  you  would  take  one  at  a 
time." 

"That  would  make  it  too  serious  and  would  mean 
business,"  laughed  Ralph. 

"Aren't  you  in  earnest  with  any  of  the  girls?" 
asked  Russell,  in  surprise. 

"What  a  foolish  question,"  replied  his  brother. 
"Don't  you  know  that  I  have  to  go  to  school  three 
more  years,  and  learn  the  banking  business  before 
I  can  be  serious?  Why,  Leila,  Mildred,  Afra,  Har- 
riet, Jeannette,  Dollie,  Nettie,  and  Elma  will  all  be 
through  school  and  doubtless  married  before  that 
time.  But  say,  Russ,  wasn't  the  triumph  of  the 
Kappas  glorious?  I  was  proud  of  you  when  you 
won  the  medal.  Youngest  of  the  contestants, 
weren't  you?  I  wish  there  was  something  good  to 
tell  Grandmother  and  Sister  about  me,  too.  Can't 
you  think  of  something,  even  if  you  have  to  stretch 
a  little?" 

"You  had  the  highest  marks  in  both  Latin  and 
mathematics.  I  think  that  is  pretty  good,"  Russell 
suggested. 

"That's  so  !  I'm  glad  you  remembered  it.  I  don't 
know  what  I  did  with  my  papers.  Must  have  left 
them  in  the  class-room  when  I  carried  those  flowers 
over  to  the  girls.  But  Grandmother  will  believe  you. 
Won't  they  be  glad  to  see  us?  They'll  be  standing 
on  the  veranda  watching  for  us,  Jennie  in  the  kitchen, 


GRANDMOTHER  51 

one  eye  on  the  fried  chicken,  the  other  peeking  out 
the  window." 

"Grandmother  will  be  so  happy,  and  Varena — I 
wonder  if  she  has  changed  much.  She  writes  that 
she  is  taller  and  wears  her  dresses  longer,"  pondered 
Russell.  "We  haven't  seen  her  for  ten  months." 

"I  can't  conceive  of  little  Sister  being  grown  up. 
I  like  to  remember  her  going  down  the  hill  astride 
the  old  buck  sheep.  I  often  entertain  my  girls  by 
telling  them  the  outrageous  things  that  Sister  has 
done,"  laughed  Ralph.  "She'll  have  a  reputation 
before  she  goes  to  college." 

At  the  railroad  junction,  they  bade  good-bye  to 
some  comrades,  purchased  lunch  and  a  magazine, 
and  settled  down  in  their  seats  to  read  and  doze  until 
they  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  hills  at  home. 

Mrs.  Falconer  and  Varena  were  on  the  top  of  a 
high  hill  when  the  train  went  whizzing  by;  but  the 
distance  was  too  great  to  distinguish  any  one.  They 
had  climbed  up  there  to  make  the  afternoon  pass 
more  quickly.  It  required  twenty  minutes  to  walk 
down  to  the  house,  and,  in  that  time,  Jim  could  drive 
the  boys  from  the  village  station. 

Flushed  and  excited  from  the  trip  through  the 
forest  and  glad  in  the  anticipation  of  the  home-com- 
ing, Mrs.  Falconer  and  Varena  stood  on  the  big 
porch,  waiting.  Both  wore  soft,  clinging  white 
dresses.  In  Grandmother's  hair  was  a  beautiful 
Marechal'Niel  rose;  Varena's  curls  were  tied  back 
with  a  blue  ribbon,  and  on  her  breast  was  a  bunch 
of  violets.  The  canary-bird  was  singing  his  wildest; 
the  bees  were  humming  over  the  crimson  rambler. 
Flash  gave  one  joyous  bark  and  sped  through  the 
arbor  to  the  open  gate  and  came  zigzagging  back, 
jumping  and  biting  the  boys'  hands. 

"Varena,  how  much  you  look  like  Grandmother!" 
cried  Ralph,  as  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her. 


52  GRANDMOTHER 

Russell's  heart  throbbed  with  a  new  emotion  as 
she  stood  before  him  in  the  first  fresh  beauty  of 
ripening  womanhood.  While  Ralph  overwhelmed 
her  with  rapturous  kisses,  he  greeted  Grandmother 
heartily,  though  less  demonstrably.  Then  giving 
place  to  Ralph,  he  turned  to  Varena.  She  was  gaz- 
ing up  at  him  with  wide-open,  wistful  eyes.  As  he 
looked  into  them,  a  peculiar  trembling  sensation  took 
possession  of  him.  He  tried  to  say  "little  Sister," 
but  his  tongue  remained  inactive.  He  took  her 
hand;  the  flush  left  her  cheeks,  she  dropped  her  eye- 
lids, pulled  away  her  hand,  and,  throwing  her  arms 
around  Ralph's  neck,  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder 
and  sobbed.  Russell  stood,  pale  and  irresolute,  for 
a  moment,  then  went  to  meet  and  greet  the  servants. 

"My,  little  Sister!"  said  Ralph.  "Are  you  so 
awfully  glad  to  see  us  that  it  makes  you  cry?" 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  I  am 
trembling  all  over.  Maybe  I  am  tired,"  she  sobbed. 

"We  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  hill  to  watch  the 
train  come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "She  will  feel 
better  after  she  has  rested  and  eaten  supper." 

"Hold  up  here,  Sister,  and  let  me  look  at  you. 
You  are  a  beauty  and  no  mistake.  Say,  Russ,  how 
will  Sister  compare  with  the  girls  at  school?"  Ralph 
asked. 

Russell  came  slowly  back  from  the  dining-room 
door,  watching  Varena  as  she  straightened  her 
crushed  violets.  He  did  not  speak  and  she  did  not 
raise  her  eyes  from  the  flowers  on  her  breast.  A 
crimson  spot  glowed  on  her  cheek,  and,  as  she  felt 
the  blush  spread  over  her  face,  she  ran  into  her 
grandmother's  room  to  bathe  in  cool  water. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  supper  was  announced. 

"This  is  the  most  delicious  meal  that  I  ever  ate  in 
my  life,"  gushed  Ralph,  as  he  winked  to  Jennie  to 
bring  him  more  chicken.  "Varena,  you're  not  eat- 
ing anything.  You've  been  accustomed  to  this  kind 


GRANDMOTHER  53 

of  food  all  the  year.  You  ought  to  see  some  of  the 
grub  we  have  at  Moxley's;  then  you'd  know  how 
to  appreciate  home  and  Grandmother.  Yes,  and 
Jennie,  too.  She  knows  how  to  fry  chicken.  Is  there 
another  breast  there,  Jennie?" 

"You  didn't  have  any  dinner,  did  you?"  asked 
Mrs.  Falconer. 

"We  bought  sandwiches  and  coffee  at  the  junc- 
tion," replied  Russell,  "and  some  fruit  on  the  train." 

"There's  the  man  with  your  trunks,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "Go  show  him  where  to  put  them,  and 
when  you  have  opened  them  and  hung  up  your  coats, 
come  out  on  the  veranda  and  tell  me  about  com- 
mencement week." 

An  hour  later,  they  were  seated  where  most  of 
the  summer  evenings  had  been  spent  during  the  years 
of  childhood.  Mrs.  Falconer  in  the  old  armchair 
with  the  background  of  crimson  ramblers,  laden  with 
blossoms,  questioned;  Varena,  in  a  little  rocker  near 
her,  listened;  and  the  boys  on  the  settee,  talked, 
Ralph  being,  by  far,  the  most  loquacious.  All  the 
important  events  of  the  year  were  catalogued,  col- 
ored by  the  pride  that  the  boys  entertained  for  each 
other,  and  restrained  by  a  sympathy  that  would 
shield  the  grandmother  from  unnecessary  worry. 
When  things  pertaining  to  the  interest  of  the  farm 
were  discussed,  it  was  decided  that  a  new  tobacco 
barn  should  be  built  during  the  month  that  the  boys 
could  superintend  it.  Tobacco  was  becoming  more 
and  more  the  staple  product  of  Kentucky  and  the 
easiest  crop  to  raise  while  the  boys  were  in  college. 
The  land  could  be  let  in  small  lots  of  three  or  six 
acres  to  tenants  whom  Jim  could  manage,  for  he 
had  grown  from  a  choreboy  to  a  reliable  overseer. 

While  this  proposition  was  under  consideration, 
Varena  went  into  the  parlor  and  quietly  opened  the 
piano,  and,  in  the  dark,  played  Mendelssohn's  "Con- 
solation." Over  and  over  she  played  it,  strong, 


54  GRANDMOTHER 

earnest,  questioning  chords,  low,  soft,  soothing  re- 
sponses. She  did  not  know  why  she  played  it,  or 
why  the  tears  traced  each  other  down  her  cheeks. 
Nor  did  she  know  that  Russell  had  slipped  into  the 
room  and  lay  on  the  sofa  listening,  unable  to  com- 
prehend her  music  or  his  own  anomalous  mood. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    TOBACCO    BARN. 

"It  will  be  all  work  and  no  play,  this  summer," 
said  Russell,  early  one  morning,  as  he  and  Ralph 
walked  out  to  the  stables,  followed  by  Jim. 

"It  won't  take  long  to  build  a  tobacco  barn," 
Ralph  replied. 

"This  stable  is  to  have  a  new  roof;  there  are  two 
new  fences  to  put  up,  and  the  little  cabin  must  be 
moved  down  by  the  spring  and  fixed  for  the  tenant," 
enumerated  Russell. 

"Then  there's  the  water-gap  that  the  last  rain 
washed  out.  The  worst  job  is  getting  the  thistles 
cut  out  of  the  pasture.  It  makes  me  tired,"  sighed 
Ralph. 

"I'm  ashamed  we  don't  get  more  done  in  your 
absence,  Marse  Russell,"  said  Jim,  apologetically. 

"That's  all  right,  Jim.  You  do  as  much  as  one 
man  can  do.  The  gist  of  the  matter  is,  that  Grand- 
mother has  set  her  heart  on  too  many  improvements 
for  one  summer.  I  wonder  why  she  don't  get  Uncle 
Henry  to  come  back?"  Russell  asked. 

"Jack  Lindley  saw.  him  on  the  mailboat,  last 
week,"  said  Ralph. 

"Was  he  porter?" 

"I  think  so,"  replied  Ralph.  "Wonder  why  he 
left  the  packet?" 

"He  was  here  the  week  'fore  you  got  home  from 
school,"  added  Jim. 

"He  was!"   and  Ralph  exchanged  a  look  with 

55 


56  GRANDMOTHER 

Russell.  "Strange  that  Grandmother  never  spoke 
of  it." 

"Yes,  sir;  he  was  here  and  ate  his  supper.  And 
Uncle  Henry  an'  Grandmother  were  sittin'  down 
under  your  old  Peace  Palace  tree,  a  talkin'  when  I 
went  to  town.  I  took  four  little  calves  down  an' 
shipped  'em  to  the  city,  an'  didn't  get  back  'fore  nine 
o'clock;  an'  he  was  gone.  Somethin'  mysterious  'bout 
that  old  nigger.  Now,  Jennie,  she  says,  Uncle 
Henry  ain't  more'n  half  bright,  an'  the  Grand- 
mother's just  got  to  humor  him,  'cause  she's  know'd 
him  so  long,"  explained  Jim. 

"And  what  Jennie  says  is  about  right,  eh?"  teased 
Ralph. 

"Jennie's  no  lame  duck.  She  generally  knows 
what  she's  talkin'  'bout,"  grinned  Jim,  turning  his 
back  to  hide  his  pleasure  in  being  teased  about  the 
maid. 

"So  it's  a  sure  thing,  is  it,  Jim?"  laughed  Ralph. 

"  'Away  down  South  in  de  land  of  roses, 
Is  my  honey  dat  I  love  so  well,'  ' 

— hummed  Jim,  in  an  undertone. 

"I  think  this  is  the  site  for  the  new  barn,"  and 
Russell  stopped  on  a  knoll  a  short  distance  from 
the  stable.  "Get  out  your  dimensions,  Ralph,  and 
let  us  stake  it  off  and  see  if  we  can  have  room  for 
a  wagon  road  on  the  north  side." 

"The  carpenter  gave  me  the  chart  of  the  tobacco 
barn  that  he  put  up  last  week."  Ralph  took  the  plan 
from  his  pocket  and  continued:  "Why  not  follow 
these  estimates?  This  is  about  what  Grandmother 
wants." 

After  an  hour's  deliberation,  Jim  was  sent  to  re- 
pair the  water-gap,  Ralph  to  town  to  purchase  build- 
ing material,  and  Russell  to  secure  men  to  extermi- 
nate the  thistles. 


GRANDMOTHER  57 

Before  the  brothers  separated,  Ralph  remarked: 
"Do  you  know,  Russ,  I  think  Uncle  Henry  knows 
some  secret  of  importance." 

"I  credit  him  with  knowing  a  dozen,"  assented 
Russell.  "He  lived  through  war  times,  when  all 
sorts  of  queer  things  were  done.  I've  heard  him 
tell  of  helping  pack  boxes  of  silver,  and  fine  china, 
and  shipping  them  to  Indiana  and  Ohio,  to  be  kept 
by  friends  till  the  war  closed.  One  old  woman  had 
two  cats  that  she  loved  like  babies;  and  she  imagined 
the  guerillas  would  kill  and  eat  them  up,  so  she  put 
them  in  a  box  and  marked  it,  'This  side  up,  handle 
with  care,'  and  expressed  them  to  her  daughter  in 
Cincinnati." 

Ralph  rode  away  laughing;  but  Russell  turned  to 
his  duties,  seriously  pondering  the  situation.  The 
absence  of  the  faithful  old  overseer  could  not  be  ex- 
plained on  simple  grounds;  but  so  long  as  Grand- 
mother withheld  her  confidence,  idle  curiosity  should 
be  restrained. 

About  noon,  Ralph  rode  up  to  the  pasture,  where 
he  expected  to  find  Russell  superintending  the  men 
in  the  grubbing  of  the  thistles,  and  learned  that  he 
had  not  been  there  for  two  hours.  He  sought  him 
at  the  house,  and  was  told  to  look  up  on  the  hillside. 
From  the  kitchen  window,  he  could  see  his  brother, 
stretched  out  on  the  grass  in  the  shade  of  a  big  tree, 
while  his  sister  was  sitting  near,  reading  aloud.  Oc- 
casionally their  laughter  would  float  down,  and  Va- 
rena  could  be  seen  tossing  bread  crumbs  to  her  pet 
gophers  and  squirrels. 

"How  long  before  dinner  will  be  ready,  Jennie?" 
asked  Ralph,  fishing  the  chicken  liver  out  of  the 
skillet. 

'  'Bout  twenty  minutes,  sir,"  replied  Jennie. 

"Well,  I'll  take  a  rest,  too."  Taking  a  news- 
paper, Ralph  found  a  shady  place  on  the  lawn;  but 
soon  he  was  in  dreamland,  where  pretty  girls  were 


'58  GRANDMOTHER 

building  a  pyramid  of  books  over  his  empty  stomach. 

"Hello,  old  fellow!  All  your  lumber  bought, 
back  home  and  fast  asleep,"  said  Russell,  standing 
over  his  brother  with  Varena's  magazine  in  his  hand. 

Ralph  stretched  himself,  saying:  "You're  a  great 
architect.  I  thought,  when  you  weren't  in  the  pas- 
ture, you'd  be  poring  over  the  plans  for  the  building. 
Who  was  it  said,  'all  work  and  no  play  this  summer?' 
I  wanted  you  to  go  back  to  town  with  me.  I  didn't 
buy  half  the  stuff." 

"What's  the  trouble,  Ralph?"  asked  Russell, 
blushing,  "I  didn't  mean  to  shirk.  I  was  so  hot  grub- 
bing in  the  sun,  and  Sister  looked  so  cool  and  inviting 
in  the  shade  of  her  big  tree,  that  I  ran  over  to  tease 
her  a  bit,  and  she  began  reading  aloud." 

"O  it's  all  right.  I  know  you  do  twice  the  amount 
of  work  that  I  do.  We'll  go  together  this  afternoon 
and  complete  the  purchases.  They  had  a  new  kind 
of  roofing  and  patent  hinges  for  the  airing-planks, 
and  an  invention  for  lifting  the  tobacco  sticks  to  posi- 
tion, and  I  was  not  competent  to  decide  about  them. 
There's  not  much  time  lost.  The  workmen  will  be 
here  Thursday;  so,  if  we  get  the  material  out  to- 
morrow, I'm  sure  we  can  rush  the  thing  right  along." 
Ralph  rose  and  they  went  in  to  dinner. 

For  weeks  the  work  on  the  farm  progressed  ad- 
mirably; the  tenant  house  was  repaired,  the  water- 
gap  remade,  the  stable  roofed,  the  stock  cistern 
cleaned,  and  the  new  barn  loomed  up  in  fine  propor- 
tions. In  fact,  the  building  was  complete,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  feet  of  flooring,  when  Russell 
went  to  the  house  to  get  the  money  to  pay  off  the 
workmen. 

The  last  plank  was  laid,  the  tools  stacked  in  their 
cases,  and  the  men  waited.  Ralph  praised  the  work 
and  the  speed  with  which  it  was  done,  told  several 
jokes  and  college  yarns,  and  still  his  brother  did  not 
return.  Jim,  coming  from  the  village,  drove  by  the 


GRANDMOTHER  59 

barn,  with  a  basket  of  apples  in  the  spring-wagon, 
which  Ralph  took  and  passed  over  to  the  laborers, 
then  urged  him  to  hasten  to  the  house,  supposing  he 
had  been  sent  to  town  for  change.  In  the  enjoyment 
of  the  fruit,  time  was  not  noted;  but  no  paymaster 
appeared,  and  Ralph  impatiently  started  on  the 
hunt  of  him.  Before  he  reached  the  yard  gate,  he 
heard  the  explanation:  Russell  and  Varena  were 
playing  duets.  Even  in  his  vexation,  Ralph  smiled, 
remembering  when  his  brother  let  his  music  cause 
him  to  forget  to  come  to  class  for  the  closing  exam- 
ination. Hearing  the  footsteps,  Russell  bounded  up 
from  the  piano  and  rushed  to  the  barn.  Ralph 
understood;  for  he  went  to  sleep  night  after  night, 
listening  to  "Zampa,"  uOlympia,"  "Calif  of  Bag- 
dad," or  some  other  duet  from  the  Leipzig  collec- 
tion. 

Altogether,  this  was  a  rare  summer.  A  new  wire 
fence  enclosed  the  lots  that  were  luxuriant  in  to- 
bacco plants;  the  tenants  occupied  the  little  cottage 
by  the  brook;  the  cows  feasted  on  the  long  grass 
free  from  prickly  thistles;  harvests  were  bountiful, 
and  the  weather  fine.  The  neighborhood  and  vil- 
lage friends  were  stirred  to  chattering  curiosity  by 
invitations  to  a  birthday  party  at  Finden.  The  young 
people  were  invited  to  a  one  o'clock  dinner,  and  sup- 
per on  the  beach,  including  boating  and  bathing  in 
the  river. 

"Whose  birthday  can  it  be?"  fretted  Clara  Pryor. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  Angie  Ross  replied. 
"Mrs.  Falconer  stated  positively  that  there  must 
be  no  presents." 

"If  it  were  Varena's  birthday,  I'd  take  one  any 
way,"  Clara  declared. 

"Russell's,  you  mean,"  laughed  her  friend,  teas- 
ingly. 

"She'd  like  to  give  herself  to  Russell,"  said  Jack 
Lindley,  coming  up  with  his  sister. 


60  GRANDMOTHER 

Clara  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  and  replied: 
"There  are  not  many  sensible  girls  who  wouldn't." 

"Come  in,  girls,  and  let's  talk  the  matter  over," 
said  Florence  Lindley.  "Jack,  bring  some  chairs 
out  of  mamma's  room;  it's  cooler  on  the  veranda. 
I  wonder  what  we  shall  do  all  day.  Mrs.  Falconer 
will  not  let  us  dance,  or  play  cards,  or  even  have  a 
jolly  kissing  game." 

"Varena  never  kissed  any  boy,  except  her  broth- 
ers. You  can't  say  that  of  yourself,  Florence,"  said 
one  of  the  girls,  laughing. 

"Don't  want  to.  I'm  sure  I  don't  enjoy  kissing 
such  a  tease  as  Jack  is,"  replied  Florence. 

"I'll  wager  Varena  gets  a  kiss  from  some  other 
boy  if  it's  her  birthday,"  bragged  Jack  Lindley. 

"My  cat  against  your  dog,  you  don't  dare," 
laughed  his  sister. 

"Shake  hands,  old  girl,  you'll  see.  If  I  win  your 
cat,  I'll  kill  it,  too.  I  hate  cats,"  said  Jack. 

"And  I'll  sell  your  dog,"  she  replied.  "I  don't 
like  dogs." 

As  the  merry  crowd  assembled  on  the  big  veranda 
at  Finden,  they  were  greeted  by  the  hostess  and  her 
grandchildren,  and  conducted  to  rooms  in  which 
they  could  put  off  their  hats,  adjust  a  tie,  or  fasten 
up  a  stray  curl. 

"Mrs.  Falconer  and  Varena  are  dressed  exactly 
alike,"  whispered  one  girl.  "I  believe  it's  their  birth- 
day." 

"That's  no  sign,"  Angie  Ross  declared.  "They 
always  dress  alike,  winter  and  summer.  Their  fine 
clothes  and  every-day  dresses  are  made  from  the 
same  pieces  of  goods.  Varena  does  it." 

"They  just  worship  each  other,"  said  Florence 
Lindley,  in  an  undertone. 

"There  isn't  any  sign  of  dinner,"  Angie  Ross 
whispered.  "I  saw  in  the  dining-room." 


GRANDMOTHER  61. 

"Hush  I"  urged  Florence,  "and  loosen  this  hat 
pin,  if  you  can,  please,  without  spoiling  my  hair." 

"Listen!  listen!"  Clara  exclaimed. 

"That's  the  village  hotel  bell.  Sounds  as  near 
as  the  barn,"  averred  Angie  Ross. 

"Come,  girls!"  called  the  boys  from  the  veranda. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  they  cried,  as  they  fol- 
lowed them  through  the  arbor,  out  toward  the  barn. 

"Where's  your  grandmother?"  Florence  inquired 
of  Varena. 

"Come,  I'll  show  you,"  she  replied,  leading  on  to 
where  the  boys  were  giving  expression  to  their  sur- 
prise, in  wild  vociferation. 

The  girls  crowded  on  to  the  threshold  wondering, 
laughing.  The  inside  of  the  new  tobacco  barn  was 
festooned  from  king-post  to  ground  floor  with  all 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Soft,  fleecy  bunting  hung 
in  waves  from  the  crossbeams,  fastened  here  and 
there  with  flowers  and  green  branches.  A  pyramid 
of  boxes  was  hidden  with  blooming  potted  plants. 
Two  long  ladders  were  decorated  with  green  and 
white  and  joined  at  the  top  with  the  date  of  the 
day,  in  gilt  letters.  Across  the  new  pine  floor  was 
a  table,  four  by  thirty  feet,  bountifully  laden  with  de- 
licious edibles.  When  the  young  people  were  seated, 
Russell  knocked  on  the  table  and  they  listened 
breathlessly,  expecting  to  learn  whose  birthday  they 
were  celebrating.  Mrs.  Falconer  quietly  asked  a 
blessing.  A  sigh  of  disappointment  went  round  the 
board,  but  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  merry  feast- 
ing. 

After  dinner,  the  company  divided  into  smaller 
groups.  Some  took  part  in  the  games  that  had  been 
arranged  for  their  amusement;  others  stole  away 
to  the  house,  where  they  could  have  music,  or  swing 
in  the  hammock;  a  few  brave  ones  climbed  in  a  hay- 
mow and  indulged  in  the  excitement  of  jumping  down 
a  distance  of  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  to  a  pile  of  soft 


62  GRANDMOTHER 

hay.  Jack  Lindley  and  Varena  were  the  most  ven- 
turesome, making  the  drop  from  a  beam  twenty-two 
feet  high. 

At  five  o'clock,  the  jolly  party  started  to  the  river. 
Mrs.  Falconer  and  the  servants  had  gone  on  before. 
The  point  selected  was  a  gravelly  beach.  The  bank 
above  it  was  about  thirty  feet  high,  perpendicular  in 
some  places;  in  others  made  accessible  by  projections 
of  broken  rock,  shrubbery,  or  roots  of  trees.  On  top 
of  the  bank  was  a  narrow  strip  of  forest.  The 
happy  young  people  scrambled  down  the  winding 
path,  stumbling,  falling,  screaming,  laughing,  jest- 
ing, teasing,  playing  any  kind  of  a  prank  that  would 
add  to  the  excitement  or  furnish  amusement. 

"O  look  at  the  tents !  Our  bathing-suits  are  there. 
I  saw  Jennie  collecting  them,"  cried  one. 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five  rowboats,"  counted 
another. 

"Don't  that  fire  blaze  high!  Here,  brother,  take 
this  stick  along,"  Florence  ordered. 

"All  right,"  said  Jack.  "You  boys,  there,  gather 
some  brush  as  you  go  along,  and  add  fuel  to  the 
flames.  Don't  leave  it  all  for  Jim  to  do." 

"What  is  Ralph  doing?"  asked  Clara. 

"Building  a  little  furnace  to  make  coffee.  Was 
there  ever  anything  so  jolly,"  gushed  Florence. 

"Wrhat's  that  other  thing?  It  looks  like  a  sum- 
mer house  or  bower." 

"What  is  it,  anyway,  all  covered  with  leaves  and 
flowers?" 

"It's  a  throne.  The  birthday  queen  is  to  occupy 
it,  sure  as  may  name's  Jack." 

Already  the  boats  were  full  and  paddles  were 
splashing.  A  few  were  in  the  water,  while  others 
were  getting  on  their  bathing  suits. 

"Hello,  Jack!  Where  have  you  been?  Are  you 
afraid  of  the  water?  Get  ready  and  come  out,  and 
I'll  race  with  you,"  called  Varena,  from  the  river. 


GRANDMOTHER  '63 

Jack  did  not  need  a  second  invitation.  He  was 
infatuated  with  the  girl.  Full  of  the  lively  anticipa- 
tion of  winning  the  wager  he  had  made  with  his  sis- 
ter, he  now  saw  his  chance  to  beat  her  in  the  race, 
catch  her,  and  get  a  kiss  for  his  reward.  When  he 
made  his  appearance  in  the  river,  the  bathers  and 
others  on  the  shore  prepared  to  watch  the  race  with 
interest. 

"How  much  handicap  will  you  give  me  and  race 
to  the  corner  of  the  barge  yonder?"  asked  Varena, 
pointing  to  the  wreck  of  an  old  barge  that  was  some 
distance  down  the  river. 

"Two  minutes,"  said  Jack. 

Ralph  timed  the  start  and  the  race  began.  The 
distance  between  them  was  not  lessened  until  after 
Varena  had  passed  the  limit  designated,  when  she 
turned  to  receive  Jack's  acknowledgment  of  her  skill. 
The  expression  in  the  boy's  face  frightened  her,  and 
she  knew  instinctively  that  he  was  determined  on 
catching  her.  The  long  barge  was  between  her  and 
the  land,  so  she  started  down-stream.  On,  they 
went,  with  Mrs.  Falconer  running  along  the  shore, 
calling  them  to  "Come  back,"  but  the  reckless  girl 
turned  toward  the  middle  of  the  river.  The  crowd 
was  so  intent  on  watching  the  swimmers  that  they 
did  not  notice  a  skiff  that  two  strong  arms  brought 
dancing  to  the  rescue.  Jack  was  in  an  arm's  length 
of  Varena  when  Russell  dropped  his  oar,  caught 
her  by  the  hand,  and  pulled  her  into  the  boat. 

"Don't  leave  Jack,  Russell;  he's  almost  ex- 
hausted," panted  the  girl. 

Chagrined  and  disappointed,  Jack  held  to  the  boat 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  swam  to  the  shore. 

Half  an  hour  later,  a  cloth  was  spread  on  the 
ground,  rugs  placed  around  it,  and  the  crowd,  orien- 
tal fashion,  enjoyed  their  supper. 

"Mrs.  Falconer,  tell  us  a  story,  please,"  some 
one  called. 


64  GRANDMOTHER 

"What  kind  of  a  story?"  she  asked. 

"A  funny  one,"  said  one. 

"A  love-story,"  another  suggested. 

"Don't  have  anybody  killed,"  said  Clara. 

"I  always  tell  true  stories,"  Mrs.  Falconer  stated. 

"Tell  us  about  people  getting  married,  and  'living 
happy  ever  after,'  "  laughed  Jack. 

"Chestnuts,"  called  his  sister. 

"Tell  about  the  girl  with  the  awful  temper,"  Va- 
rena  suggested. 

"Shall  I  describe  the  first  marriage  ceremony  that 
your  grandfather  performed?"  Mrs.  Falconer  asked 
of  Varena. 

"O  yes,  please!"  spoke  several. 

"He  was  quite  a  young  man  at  that  time,  and  had 
spent  most  of  his  years  in  intellectual  pursuits  and 
studious  preparation  for  the  ministry;  consequently, 
he  was  very  timid  and  modest  in  society.  When  an 
invitation  came,  requesting  him  to  officiate  at  the 
wedding  in  an  aristocratic  family,  he  was  deeply 
concerned  about  his  ability  to  give  satisfaction,  and 
determined  to  put  forth  his  best  efforts  and  make 
a  reputation  that  would  give  him  popularity  with  the 
young  people.  Not  wishing  to  use  the  manual,  he 
memorized  the  marriage  rite;  and  to  make  sure 
that  he  would  do  every  part  perfectly,  he  went  up 
into  his  bedroom  and  placed  a  chair  by  the  side  of 
the  bed-post.  He  stood  before  them  and  smiled  at 
the  chair  in  the  manner  he  thought  would  encourage 
the  bride,  bowed  to  the  bed-post  with  the  dignity 
necessary  to  impress  the  bridegroom,  and  married 
the  chair  to  the  bed-post.  This  he  did  day  after  day, 
until  he  felt  sure  he  could  not  possibly  forget  a  word 
or  a  gesture.  The  wedding-hour  came.  In  those 
days,  a  previous  rehearsing  with  the  couple  them- 
selves was  not  practised;  so  he  was  ushered  to  his 
place.  The  brilliant  light  and  the  elaborate  decol- 
lete dresses  dazed  him  for  a  moment;  but  he  kept  his 


GRANDMOTHER  65 

mind  on  the  formula,  and  his  eyes  on  the  door 
through  which  the  bride  and  bridegroom  would  en- 
ter. When  they  came  slowly  toward  him,  his  col- 
lar began  to  tighten,  his  coat  grew  small  across  the 
breast,  one  knee  hit  against  the  other;  and  he  forgot 
every  thing,  staring  before  him,  seeing  nothing  but 
a  chair  and  a  bed-post." 

"O  land!  And  didn't  he  marry  them?"  asked  half 
a  dozen. 

"I  suppose  he  pronounced  them  'man  and  wife' 
after  some  sort  of  fashion,  as  no  one  was  called  upon 
to  repeat  the  ceremony,"  added  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"Tell  another  one,  please." 

"Yes,  do.  It's  lots  of  fun  to  lie  here  and  eat  and 
listen." 

"There  was  a  very  nice  couple  to  be  married  when 
we  lived  in  Wisconsin.  The  bride  was  one  of  those 
sweet,  modest  girls,  whose  careful  bringing-up  made 
her  a  choice  morsel  for  a  good  man.  The  bride- 
groom was  a  bashful  gentleman,  and  I'm  sure  that  he 
never  had  kissed  her.  He  was  too  timid  to  have 
done  such  a  thing.  The  minister  met  them  in  a  pri- 
vate room,  made  out  the  certificates,  and  told  them 
about  what  the  ceremony  would  be.  He  had  a  droll 
humor  in  him  that  was  often  taken  seriously. 

"  'Now,  then,  I  shall  have  the  first  kiss,'  he  said, 
as  they  prepared  to  enter  the  parlor.  The  bride 
blushed. 

"  'No,  sir,'  emphatically  spoke  the  bridegroom. 

'That  is  my  privilege,  though  it  is  not  often 
that  I  claim  it,'  said  Mr.  Falconer,  with  an  amused 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"The  guests  were  assembled.  Lohengrin's  wed- 
ding-march was  calling  them  to  join  heart  and  hand. 
The  ceremony  was  half  through;  that  is,  they  each 
had  responded,  'I  do,'  and  the  preacher  raised  his 
hands  to  make  the  prayer  before  pronouncing  them 
'man  and  wife,'  when  the  bridegroom,  mistaking  the 


66  GRANDMOTHER 

movement  for  an  attempt  to  get  the  kiss,  slipped  his 
arm  around  the  girl,  put  the  other  hand  under  her 
chin,  and  kissed  her  lips  heartily,  and  the  preacher 
went  on  praying." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,"  roared  the  crowd. 

"Tell  another.     Tell  another,"  came  the  request. 

"A  venerable-looking  Southerner,  with  a  beautiful 
black-eyed  Northern  lady  came  to  the  parsonage 
after  we  had  moved  South.  When  the  papers  were 
made  out,  Mr.  Falconer  noticed  that  they  bore  the 
same  name,  had  been  married,  and  divorced.  When 
he  questioned  them,  he  learned  that  they  had  married 
each  other  before  the  war,  and  separated  because  of 
their  political  principles;  she  had  taken  their  babe 
and  gone  North  to  her  father's,  and  he  had  fought 
for  the  Southland.  After  peace  was  declared,  he 
courted  her  again,  and  we  married  them  when  their 
boy  was  fifteen  years  old." 

"I  suspect  ever  so  many  couples  parted  during  the 
war,"  commented  Florence. 

"Never  to  meet  again,"  drolled  Jack. 

"Tell  some  more,  please." 

"No,"  said  Ralph.  "Everybody  go  stand  down 
in  front  of  the  flower  throne  and  shut  your  eyes, 
till  I  say  'now';  then  open  them  and  see  how  many 
snowflakes  you  can  catch." 

"I've  eaten  so  much  I  can't  get  up,"  groaned  Jack. 

The  crowd  collected  in  front  of  the  rustic  flower- 
trimmed  bower,  and,  with  peeking  eyes  and  smiling 
lips,  watched  Mrs.  Falconer  take  the  seat  and  open 
a  large  paper  box. 

"O  you're  looking,"  said  Varena  to  Jack,  step- 
ping in  front  of  him  and  covering  his  eyes  with  her 
hands. 

"Now!"  cried  Ralph.  "It  is  Grandmother's 
birthday.  Lookout!" 

Mrs.  Falconer,  laughing  like  a  child,  began  throw- 
ing at  them  handfuls  of  bonbons  and  tidbits;  egg- 


GRANDMOTHER  67 

kisses,  caramels,  funny-caps,  whistles,  paper  faces, 
and  queer  little  contrivances  that  amused  the  jolly 
picnic  party.  As  Varena  drew  down  her  hands, 
smiling  into  Jack's  face,  the  opportunity,  the  tempta- 
tion, was  too  great  for  him.  Before  she  was  aware, 
he  caught  her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  Releasing  her 
instantly,  he  found  himself  sprawling  on  the  ground. 
By  the  time  he  had  comprehended  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him,  Russell  had  put  Varena  into  a  skiff  and 
pushed  out  into  the  river.  The  girl's  cheeks  were 
crimson  and  her  brother's  were  whiter  than  his  col- 
lar. The  excitement  and  interest  in  catching  the 
dainties  and  snapping  the  bonbons  was  a  cover  to 
Jack's  humiliation.  Those  who  saw  him  fall,  thought 
he  was  scrambling  to  get  a  paper  cap  that  the  wind 
carried  away. 

Ralph  saw  the  blow,  and,  stepping  down  to  Jack, 
said:  "I  hope  you'll  not  get  mad,  Jack.  Russ  didn't 
design  to  strike  so  hard,  and  I  apologize  for  him. 
He's  a  fool  about  Sister  and  you  know  he's  one  of 
those  boys  who  never  kissed  a  girl  in  his  life.  I 
know  you  were  just  in  fun.  I  don't  want  any  ugly 
feeling  to  spoil  Grandmother's  birthday.  Jack,  you'll 
consider  her;  that's  a  good  fellow." 

"I'll  overlook  it  for  her  sake,  but "  he  began. 

"Hush,"  whispered  Ralph,  as  a  crowd  of  girls 
came  toward  them. 

"We  want  you  to  make  a  speech,  Jack,"  said  his 
sister.  "Come  and  congratulate  Mrs.  Falconer  and 
thank  her  for  the  pleasure  she's  given  us." 

He  went  forward  and  perfunctorily  stammered  a 
few  words,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  assured  them  she  ap- 
preciated all  they  would  like  to  express  and  that  she 
had  enjoyed  the  day  fully  as  much  as  they  had. 

When  the  party  climbed  the  bank,  Russell  and  Va- 
rena could  be  seen  far  up  the  river,  apparently  sit- 
ting together,  letting  the  skiff  drift  down-stream. 

"It's  kind  o'  tough  on  you,  Marse  Ralph,  to  help 


68  GRANDMOTHER 

get  all  these  buggies,"  said  Jim,  harnessing  a  horse 
that  night. 

"Don't  speak  of  it,  Jim.  Russ  had  a  little  bout 
with  Jack,  and  I  reckon  he  won't  bring  Sister  home 
till  he's  gone,"  said  Ralph,  in  an  undertone. 

"I  saw  it,"  grinned  Jim.     "Served  him  right." 

"It's  all  right  to  kiss  other  fellow's  sisters;  but 
other  fellows  mustn't  kiss  our  sister.  That's  the 
great  commandment,  is  it?  Do  as  you  wouldn't  be 
done  by,"  commented  Ralph. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  young  people  were  gone,  the 
servants  asleep  and  the  house  quiet,  save  for  Mrs. 
Falconer's  step  as  she  paced  back  and  forth  along 
the  veranda,  while  Ralph  dozed  on  the  settee.  Again 
and  again,  she  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  veranda, 
looked  away  in  the  starlight,  and  listened. 

"Wake  up,  Ralph;  I  know  something  has  hap- 
pened to  the  children.  It  may  be  the  boat  sprang 
a  leak,  or  run  into  a  snag  and  upset.  Ralph,  how 
can  you  sleep  when  they  may  be  in  distress?"  she 
urged. 

"Grandmother,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  worry,"  said 
Ralph,  rousing  himself.  "I  know  they  floated  down- 
stream, enjoying  the  moon  on  the  water,  forgetting 
that  it  would  take  longer  to  row  back  up-stream. 
The  river  is  falling  and  the  water  is  swift.  I  would 
go  after  them  in  a  minute,  if  I  weren't  sure  they  are 
safe  and  just  having  a  good  time." 

Mrs.  Falconer  sat  down  and  waited  until  the  clock 
struck  eleven.  Ralph  was  disturbed  in  his  slumbers 
by  hearing  her  leave  the  veranda. 

"Come  back,  Grandmother,"  he  called,  "and  wait 
just  five  minutes;  then  I'll  go." 

"This  afternoon,  I  thought  this  one  of  the  hap- 
piest days  of  my  life,"  said  Grandmother;  "but, 
now 

"Listen !"  interrupted  Rdph.    "Didn't  I  tell  you ! 


GRANDMOTHER  69 

That  is  Russ's  call.     He  wants  us  to  know  they're 

coming."  ..    , 

"And  now  it  really  is  the  happiest,  she  smiled 
as  she  brushed  a  tear  from  her  cheek. 

"O  Grandmother,  we're  so  sorry  that  we've  kept 
you  worrying,"  pleaded  Varena.  "It  was  so  lovely 
on  the  water.  We  just  couldn't  come  in;  but,  indeed, 
we  didn't  mean  to  stay  so  long." 

"How  far  down  the  river  did  you  go?"  yawned 
Ralph. 

"Not  very  far.  We  sat  on  the  bank  a  while  atter 
we  came  back,"  said  Russell. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  us  the  next  time,  so  I  could  go 
to  bed  and  Grandmother  would  not  worry  so,"  was 
Ralph's  good-night  speech. 

"We  didn't  know  it  was  so  late,"  explained  Va- 
rena. 

"  'All's  well  that  ends  well,'  "  quoted  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "It  has  been  a  very  happy  birthday,  and  a 
pleasant  dedicating  of  the  new  barn." 

"I  hope  you  will  live  to  see  it  filled  with  fine  to- 
bacco for  m^ny,  many  years,"  said  Russell. 


CHAPTER  V. 

RARE    GEMS. 

Going  back  eighteen  or  twenty  years,  to  the  period 
when  a  radical  change  was  taking  place  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  government,  when  the  party  that 
had  been  reaping  the  benefits  of  executive  and  elect- 
ive emoluments  for  two  dozen  years  was  voted  to 
step  aside  and  permit  a  new  jurisdiction  to  enjoy  the 
remunerative  places  of  a  reconstructed  nation,  the 
honorable  office  of  District  Judge  of  the  Federal 
Court  of  Louiston  was  given  to  J.  J.  Johnson,  a  man 
of  deep  convictions,  erudite,  experienced,  keen- 
sighted,  just,  secretive,  persistent,  and  merciless.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  who  had  spent  his  early  life  pouring 
over  his  law  books,  and  laying  up  money  with  which 
he  purposed  building  a  lovely  home  for  the  dear  girl 
he  had  enthroned  in  his  heart.  The  home  was  never 
built;  for  the  girl,  ignorant  of  the  love  of  the  great 
lawyer  and  the  honor  in  store  for  her,  had  quietly 
married  his  subordinate  partner.  Cherishing  his 
secret,  he  watched  over  her  interests,  took  her  hus- 
band into  full  partnership;  and,  after  her  death,  he 
gave  his  untiring  devotion  to  her  daughter.  It  was 
to  a  reception  in  the  palatial  home  of  the  latter,  he 
was  now  hastening.  The  air  was  oppressively  warm, 
and  he  stopped  on  the  veranda,  recognizing,  with 
an  ugly  smile,  the  voice  that  floated  through  the  win- 
dow. 

'Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and  en- 
dures, and  is  patient,'  "  quoted  Dr.  Harding. 

70 


GRANDMOTHER  71 

"  'Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of 

woman's  devotion, 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the  pines 

of  the  forest, 
List  to  a  tale  of  a  love  in  Acadia,  home  of  the 

happy,'  ' 

— continued  Mrs.  Kendrick,  throwing  a  mischievous 
glance  at  her  quondam  lover. 

They  stood  before  a  little  statue,  modelled  after 
S.  F.  Lynn's  "Evangeline."  Her  hands  are  clasped, 
her  head  bowed,  her  whole  attitude  expressive  of 
deep  sorrow  as  she  contemplates  a  nameless  grave. 

"Woman's  devotion,"  sneered  Dr.  Harding,  "  'In- 
consistent as  the  passing  wind.'  ' 

"Evangeline."  Mrs.  Kendrick  laid  her  delicate, 
jewelled  fingers  over  the  hands  of  the  statue  and 
quoted: 

'  'Sometimes  in  churchyards  strayed,  and  gazed  on 
the  crosses  and  tombstones, 

Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought  that  per- 
haps in  its  bosom 

He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber 
beside  him.'  ' 

"The  sculptor  portrays  her  in  a  state  of  aberra- 
tion, grief  having  affected  her  brain,"  commented 
Dr.  Harding,  satirically. 

"The  artist  may  have  such  an  idea.  Longfellow 
does  not  so  represent  her.  On  the  contrary,  we  find 
in  her  character  a  clear,  sane,  beautiful  delineation 
of  love  that  is  faithful  unto  death,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Kendrick. 

"All  human  love  is  irrational  and  insane,"  com- 
mented the  Doctor;  "but  Dryden  says,  'There  is  a 
pleasure  in  being  mad.'  ' 

"  'Which  none  but  mad  men  know/  "  Mrs.  Ken- 


72  GRANDMOTHER 

drick  finished  the  quotation,  and,  smiling,  left  him 
to  meet  other  guests. 

The  drawing-room  into  which  they  entered  was 
large  and  artistically  furnished.  The  French  win- 
dows, of  crown  glass,  were  delicately  shaded  with 
curtains  of  Brussels  net.  On  a  pedestal  between  the 
windows,  stood  a  statue  of  Gibson's  "Tinted  Venus." 
On  the  walls,  a  few  rare  paintings  found  a  becoming 
background  in  the  delicate  gray  ingrain  that  extended 
three-quarters  up,  to  where  a  misty  forest  contained 
suggestions  of  the  deer  and  hounds ;  above  the  whole, 
was  a  ceiling  like  a  Corot  sky.  The  furnishings  were 
in  rosewood.  An  exquisite  grille  separated  this  room 
from  the  parlor,  where,  from  a  mahogany  daven- 
port, looking  through  a  polygonal  bay-window,  one 
could  enjoy  a  view  of  the  green  lawn.  On  the  west 
side  of  the  parlor,  there  was  a  colonial  mantel  with 
brass  andirons  in  the  fireplace;  four  antique  brass 
candle-sticks  and  a  faience  vase  stood  on  the  mantel, 
showing  double  in  the  French  mirror  above.  A 
dozen  leather-bottomed  mahogany  chairs,  and  a 
square  table  with  chocolate  and  coffee  service  of 
Sevres  cups  and  souvenir  spoons,  completed  the  at- 
tractions. To  the  left  of  this,  the  library  extended. 
Here,  there  was  a  large  rectangular  bay-window, 
with  an  upholstered  window-seat  and  half  a  dozen 
pillows,  screened  by  heavy  curtains;  a  centre-table  of 
quartered  oak,  covered  with  periodicals,  from  Har- 
per's to  the  City  Daily;  rows  of  books,  embracing 
history,  biography,  poetry,  most  of  the  old  masters, 
and  the  best  of  the  new  novels;  and  comfortable 
chairs  and  divans.  Above  the  cases  were  busts  of  the 
authors,  and  over  the  ceiling  and  upper  wall  floated 
oreads,  dryads,  and  cupids  in  a  maze  of  cloudy 
scenery.  Beyond  the  library  was  the  music-room. 
A  Steinway  grand,  a  guitar,  a  music-cabinet,  portraits 
of  the  old  masters  and  modern  artists,  ebony  furni- 
ture, and  delicate  green  decorations,  formed  an  at- 


GRANDMOTHER  73 

mosphere  of  peaceful  harmony.  The  dining-room, 
to  the  right  of  the  music-room,  was  of  white  pine, 
with  just  a  suspicion  of  spring  blossoms  and  straw- 
berries in  the  tinted  walls.  There  were  a  few  steel 
engravings,  Millett's  "Angelus" ;  Corot's  "Dance  of 
the  Nymphs";  Holme's  "Can  You  Talk?"  and 
"Words  of  Comfort."  The  reception-hall  and  stairs 
were  unique,  in  that  each  pilaster  in  the  balustrade 
was  modelled  after  a  statue,  most  of  them  mythologi- 
cal. Hard  wood  and  Wilton  velvet  rugs  throughout 
completed  the  lower  floor  of  this  elegant  home. 

Still,  the  most  beautiful  adornment  was  the  young 
mistress,  now  welcoming  a  number  of  friends  to  an 
evening  reception.  Gowned  in  a  princess  of  empire 
green  cachemire  de  sole,  bodice  decollete,  ravishing 
sleeves  of  soft  tucked  tulle,  finishings  of  panne  velvet 
and  petals  of  roses,  with  a  diamond  brooch  holding 
a  single  la  France  rose  on  her  breast,  and  coiffure  a 
mystery  of  waves  and  ringlets,  she  moved  across  the 
room.  A  warm  hand-clasp  for  one,  a  pleasant  wave 
for  another  and  a  smile  for  all,  she  soon  had  the 
party  adjusted  as  each  would  enjoy  the  other  most. 
This  was  her  pride,  her  ambition,  to  be  a  successful, 
accomplished,  and  beloved  hostess.  She  was  an 
adept  in  bringing  together  congenial  people  and  in 
avoiding  the  shoals  of  intrigue  and  the  pitfalls  of 
malice.  Her  hobby  was  to  be  intrinsically  beautiful 
in  character  and  in  personal  appearance.  Of  envy, 
and  jealousy,  she  desired  to  remain  in  ignorance. 
She  was  zealous  in  works  of  charity,  enjoying  the  en- 
comiums of  the  ragamuffins;  ardent  in  the  esthetic 
enjoyment  of  the  church  service,  for  the  regard  and 
appreciation  of  the  minister  and  the  officials  contrib- 
uted to  her  satisfaction  with  herself;  and  enthusiastic 
in  the  literary  work  of  the  clubs,  with  a  deep  joy  in 
the  consciousness  of  matching  witticism  with  intellect, 
repartee  with  reason.  She  possessed  a  peculiar  fac- 
ulty of  being  able  to  draw  the  most  brilliant  thought 


74  GRANDMOTHER 

from  the  brain  of  one,  and  then  turning  it  back  for 
his  admiration  as  her  own  conception.  Mabel  Ken- 
drick  believed  that  God  designed  for  his  creatures 
a  life  of  goodness  and  happiness,  and  that  it  was 
the  duty  of  every  one  to  shun  whatever  would  vex 
or  annoy.  A  great  admirer  of  her  husband,  she  re- 
joiced in  the  consciousness  of  perfect  love  and  confi- 
dence. 

"This  is  a  genuine  pleasure,  Judge  Johnson,"  said 
Richard  Kendrick,  standing  near  his  wife  and  grasp- 
ing the  hand  of  their  friend.  "We  began  to  fear 
that  you  were  not  coming." 

"I'm  not  so  late  as  I  appear.  I  have  been  on  the 
veranda,"  apologized  the  Judge.  He  stood  erect, 
glancing  thoughtfully  through  the  rooms;  which 
were  filled  with  dress  suits,  and  floating  clouds  of 
sheeny,  filmy  habiliment,  where  sparkling  gems  vied 
with  the  brightness  of  laughing  eyes;  and  tinted 
lights  kissed  the  blushing  cheeks. 

"Is  that  not  a  picture  to  make  you  forget  your 
gloomy  court-room  and  horrid  trials,"  said  Mrs. 
Kendrick,  following  his  gaze. 

"Rather  it  is  a  subject  of  serious  contemplation, 
that,  beneath  that  bright  surface  of  innocence  and 
beauty,  there  flows  an  undercurrent  of  passion  which 
can  lead  to  the  cruelties  that  result  in  divorce  and 


ruin- 


"My  dear  Judge,  don't,  don't!"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Kendrick,  beaming  on  him  with  radiant  smiles. 
"You  have  been  a  criminal  lawyer  so  long  you  see 
the  wicked  in  everything,  like  the  cartoonist  who 
can't  see  a  person  straight  or  normal.  I  must  pre- 
scribe a  course  of  treatment  for  you,  and  put  you 
under  the  influence  of  the  sect  who  claims  that  you 
can  make  a  person  what  he  should  be,  by  just  think- 
ing him  so." 

"That  is  a  wise  doctrine  for  one  to  whom  existence 
is  simply  to  enjoy  life  and  impart  to  others  her  talis- 


GRANDMOTHER  75 

manic  delectableness,"  said  the  Judge,  gallantly,  as 
his  hostess  turned  to  other  guests.  "It  is  not  the 
privilege  of  one  who  is  studying  human  nature  in  a 
desire  to  acquire  the  ability  to  read  unexpressed 
thought,"  he  continued,  speaking  to  his  host. 

"Do  you  think  Dr.  Bertillon  will  give  any  material 
aid  in  the  matter  of  detecting  criminals  by  his  photo- 
graphic measurements?"  asked  Richard  Kendrick. 

"That  remains  to  be  proved,"  the  Judge  answered. 
"The  theory  of  'danger-word  questioning'  is  gaining 
some  advocates.  With  me,  the  eye  is  the  index  of 
the  brain.  I  can  detect  the  lie  in  any  eye  that  I  have 
ever  looked  into."  He  lowered  his  voice  as  Dr. 
Harding  appeared. 

"Judge  Johnson,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I'm  glad  you 
find  time  for  a  social  gathering  occasionally." 

"I  am  a  habitue  of  only  a  few  places;  this  is  one 
of  them.  But  where  is  your  wife?  I  do  not  see 
her  here,"  replied  the  Judge. 

"The  boys  were  restless,  and  she  preferred  to 
remain  with  them  until  they  went  to  sleep.  She'll 
be  in  later.  You  know  we  live  next  door,  all  in 
one  yard,"  said  Dr.  Harding,  absently,  his  eyes 
following  his  hostess. 

"I  do  not  forget  that  your  wife  is  a  sister  of  Mr. 
Kendrick,  and  that  you  have  two  of  the  handsom- 
est places  on  the  avenue,"  the  Judge  replied. 

"We  don't  boast  of  anything  like  this,"  added  Dr. 
Harding,  indicating  the  beautiful  rooms,  as  his  eye 
swept  the  vista  to  the  far  music-room  in  search  of 
the  hostess. 

"You  have  more  to  be  proud  of  in  Mrs.  Harding's 
two  fine  boys,"  said  the  Judge.  "A  home  is  not  com- 
plete without  children."  He  laid  his  hand  affec- 
tionately on  the  shoulder  of  his  host. 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  serene  countenance  of 
Richard  Kendrick.  He  did  not  reply,  but  walked 
back  to  the  parlor,  where  his  wife  was  dispensing 


76  GRANDMOTHER 

coffee  and  wafers  to  her  guests.  The  aura  of  her 
beauty,  temperament,  talent,  and  heart,  permeating 
the  circle  and  filling  the  atmosphere  with  a  glad  ra- 
diance of  happiness,  thrilled  the  soul  of  her  hus- 
band, until  he  was  startled  from  his  proud  contem- 
plation of  the  scene  by  the  insinuating  tones  of  his 
brother-in-law,  who  stood  at  his  elbow,  saying: 

"Peerless  as  Josephine;  more  generous  than  Na- 
poleon." 

Again  the  cloud  passed  over  the  brow  of  the  host; 
but  this  time  he  turned  away  in  anger  and  ran 
against  a  bright  young  girl,  to  whom  he  said:  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Inez." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  you  turning  'round  so 
quickly,"  she  laughed.  "Mrs.  Kendrick  sent  me  to 
bring  you  and  Judge  Johnson  to  have  your  coffee." 

"Come,  we'll  find  the  Judge  in  the  drawing-room," 
he  replied,  leading  the  way,  exchanging  a  word  here 
and  there  as  they  passed  among  the  guests.  "Miss 
Inez  is  to  escort  you  to  the  lunch-table,  Judge  John- 
son." 

"The  prettiest  little  girl  in  the  room,"  laughed 
Judge  Johnson,  offering  her  his  arm. 

"I'm  to  take  you  both,"  she  said,  putting  her 
dainty  fingers  on  Richard  Kendrick's  arm  also. 

As  they  approached,  Mrs.  Kendrick  said  to  the 
Judge:  "Did  you  forget  that  I  was  waiting  for  you, 
Judge  Johnson?  I  can't  allow  any  one  else  to  sugar 
your  coffee." 

"Your  smile  makes  it  sufficiently  sweet  for  me," 
replied  the  Judge,  taking  the  coffee  and  refusing  the 
sugar. 

"She  won't  allow  me  to  make  pretty  speeches  to 
her,"  said  Edgar  Mills,  a  young  man  who  stood  be- 
hind her  chair,  looking  with  rapture  on  her  volup- 
tuous throat. 

"Have  you  ever  tried?"  she  asked,  reprovingly. 

"No,  madam,  I  never  dared,"  he  replied,  abashed. 


GRANDMOTHER  77 

"It  is  an  old  friend's  privilege,"  said  the  Judge, 
good-naturedly. 

"I  wish  I  were  an  old  friend,  or  a  kid,"  said 
Edgar,  hanging  his  head  in  pathetic  affectation.  "I 
heard  one  of  those  little  nephews  say  he  loved  his 
Aunt  Mabel  better  than  he  did  his  papa." 

"Will  you  kindly  bring  some  of  the  ladies  for 
their  coffee?"  asked  Mrs.  Kendrick,  ignoring  the 
last  remark. 

"With  pleasure,"  he  replied. 

He  left  her  immediately;  but,  finding  Miss  Inez 
alone  on  the  library  window-seat,  pouting  because 
her  sweetheart  was  enamored  of  their  hostess,  he 
did  not  return.  Their  seclusion  was  not  long  with- 
out interruption;  for,  here,  the  literati  collected  to 
enjoy  this  treasury  of  jewels,  this  thesaurus  of  rare 
and  beautiful  gems.  Not  the  polished  stones  of  lapi- 
dary that  were  found  in  the  mines  of  the  earth,  or 
the  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  the  ocean;  not  the 
products  of  material  elements:  no  combination  of 
the  chemist  could  produce  any  likeness  to  them;  for 
they  belonged  to  a  higher  kingdom — spiritual  in- 
habitants of  the  world  of  thought. 

"I  shall  have  to  excuse  you,  Judge  Johnson.  I 
see  Richard  looking  longingly  at  his  books,"  said 
Mrs.  Kendrick. 

Answering  his  wife's  smile  with  a  face  aglow  with 
pleasure,  the  host  replied:  "I  have  some  new  pub- 
lications that  I  know  you  will  be  glad  to  examine; 
and  I  have  been  culling  from  old  pamphlets  some 
rare  gems  that  I  wish  to  combine  in  a  book  of  favor- 
ite poems.  I  should  like  for  you  to  look  at  them." 

As  they  passed  from  the  parlor,  he  greeted  his 
sister  cordially,  saying:  "I'm  glad  you  have  come, 
Luella;  Mabel  is  waiting  for  you." 

"Come,  Luella,  please,  and  take  my  place,"  said 
Mrs.  Kendrick,  resigning  her  seat  by  the  table  to 
her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Harding.  "I'm  so  glad  you 


78  GRANDMOTHER 

left  those  naughty  boys;  for  I  need  you.  I  must 
go  and  speak  to  some  who  are  leaving  early.  Did 
the  boys  let  you  come,  or  did  you  leave  them  cry- 
ing?" 

"They  let  me  come  to  bring  a  kiss  to  Aunt  Ma- 
bel," replied  Mrs.  Harding. 

"The  little  dears,  how  nice  of  them.  I  don't  know 
how  we  could  live  without  those  boys,"  gushed 
Mabel. 

"I  thought  you  did  not  care  for  children,"  spoke 
a  woman  in  surprise. 

"I  would  not  be  bothered  with  one  of  my  own 
for  the  wealth  of  Croesus,"  laughed  Mrs.  Kendrick; 
"but  I  dote  on  Luella's  boys.  They  are  darlings." 

"My  children  are  the  strongest  tie  between  me 
and  my  husband,"  said  a  serious  little  woman,  whose 
husband  was  a  notorious  "lady's  man." 

"It  takes  children,  good  looks,  and  money  to  hold 
my  little  man,"  laughed  Mrs.  Benson,  wife  of  an 
elder  in  Calvary  Church. 

"I  think  it  is  the  man  himself  that  keeps  my  hus- 
band true,"  said  Mrs.  Kendrick,  seriously.  "I'm 
sure  I  could  not  love  and  respect  him  if  any  one 
could  win  him  to  indulge  in  a  single  wandering 
thought.  A  man  who  can  be  enticed  from  his  alleg- 
iance to  his  wife  is  not  a  man  at  all.  He's  a  ninny 
or  a  rascal." 

"Experience  proves  that  many  good  men  have 
been  fascinated  or  bewitched  by  some  unscrupulous 
beauty,"  gently  mused  the  little  woman. 

"Anyway,  it  looks  to  me,"  continued  Mrs.  Ken- 
drick, "that  the  law  allowing  a  woman  to  sue  for 
damage  for  alienated  affection  is  extremely  absurd. 
It  presupposes  that  the  wife  was  not  worthy  of  his 
love  and  needed  pay  for  her  own  deficiencies,  rather 
than  his  dereliction  of  duty." 

"Pardon  me,  Sister,"  said  Mrs.  Harding;  "you 


GRANDMOTHER  79 

forget  that  men  marry  'for  beter  or  for  worse,'  and 
the  law  of  God  demands  the  fulfilment  of  the  VDW." 

"O  well,  I  never  argue,"  laughed  Mrs.  Kendrick; 
"for  argument  leads  to  vexation,  and  every  annoy- 
ance brings  a  wrinkle.  We  must  all  keep  our  good 
looks  if  we  would  keep  our  husband's  affection." 

"But  where  there  is  no  beauty  to  preserve?"  ques- 
tioned the  serious  little  woman. 

"Whatever  the  qualities  were  that  won  the  sweet- 
heart should  be  more  winning  with  the  embellish- 
ment of  years,"  continued  Mrs.  Kendrick.  "Ex- 
cuse me,  ladies,  I've  promised  the  young  people 
some  music,  though  it  will  be  a  shame  to  disturb  the 
gentlemen  in  the  library." 

"You  are  fortunate  in  possessing  these  rare  col- 
lections," said  Elder  Benson,  taking  an  old  volume 
from  a  shelf. 

"My  father  found  them  while  travelling  in  dif- 
ferent countries.  That  book  you  hold  is  Vedic  Sans- 
krit; and  hidden  in  its  pages  are  many  beautiful 
thoughts,"  replied  the  host. 

"It  is  fortunate  for  us  of  limited  education  that 
most  of  our  brilliant  gems  have  a  setting  in  imper- 
ishable English  words.  Pure  English,  pure  Eng- 
lish," mused  the  elder,  looking  curiously  into  the  old 
Latin  and  Greek  books. 

"I  have  a  pet  theory,"  said  Mrs.  Kendrick  stop- 
ping on  her  way  to  the  music-room,  "that  English  is 
the  language  of  poetry.  Byron  may  have  been  as- 
sisted in  his  loftiest  flights  by  the  sunny  skies,  the 
balmy  breeze,  and  dolce  far  niente  spirit  of  Italy; 
but  "Childe  Harold"  could  only  have  interpretation 
in  the  language  of  Shakespeare.  Judge  Johnson  can 
you  forget  Blackstone  long  enough  to  give  us  your 
favorite  gem  of  poetry?" 

"Listen  to  me  first,  Judge,"  laughed  Elder  Ben- 
son. "Here  is  Butler's  'Hudibras,'  "  and  he  quoted: 


80  GRANDMOTHER 

"  'Laws  do  not  put  the  least  restraint 
Upon  our  freedom,  but  maintain  it; 
Or,  if  it  does,  'tis  for  our  good, 
To  give  us  freer  latitude; 
For  wholesome  laws  preserve  us  free, 
By  stinting  of  our  liberty.'  ' 

"My  fair  friend,"  said  the  Judge,  smiling  on  his 
hostess,  "thinks  my  cranium  is  crammed  with  crim- 
inals, that  I  am  a  crabbed  creature,  created  to  cre- 
mate crime,  when  in  reality,  I  lead  a  dual  life.  To 
prove  this  statement,  I  shall  give  you  my  favorite 
verse  and  tell  you  why  I  love  it.  It  was  many,  many 
years  ago,  when  the  sunshine  was  a  curiosity,  when 
a  sound  was  a  mystery,  and  the  light  was  bewilder- 
ing, that  there  came  to  my  infantile  mind  a  soft 
melody  that  seemed  a  reminiscence  of  some  former 
state  of  being;  and,  under  its  soothing  spell,  I  sank 
away  into  a  sweet  dream  of  converse  with  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  upper  realm;  and  ever  through  my 
childhood  and  on  through  my  developed  physical 
and  mental  manhood,  I  cherished  these  nursery 
rhymes : 

1  'Hush,  my  babe,  lie  still  and  slumber, 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed, 
Heavenly  blessings  without  number, 
Gently  fall  around  thy  head.' 

"Set  in  the  same  casket  is  that  truly  universal 
prayer: 

"  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take.' 

"Those  are  gems  of  the  first  water.  They  never 
grow  old ;  and  we  never  grow  too  old  to  repeat  them 
and  feel  their  power." 


GRANDMOTHER  Si 

"I  remember  very  well,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Elliot, 
pastor  of  Calvary  Church,  "when,  in  youthful  days, 
and  verging  on  to  the  development  of  mental  powers, 
how  sublime  seemed  the  realm  of  poetry.  It  first 
came  to  me  as  a  revelation  through  the  precious 
word  of  God.  It  was  with  poetic  rapture  that  I 
translated  from  the  Hebrew  the  first  words  of  Gene- 
sis and  lost  myself  in  the  grand  metrical  truths: 

"  'In  the  beginning  God  created 
And  God  said  let  there  be  light, — 
And  there  was  light.' 

"Then,  in  later  years,  when  able  to  comprehend 
more  of  the  true  and  beautiful,  and  view  the  earth 
and  created  things  as  the  expression  of  the  divine 
will,  I  found  in  the  poetic  composition  of  the  sacred 
books,  the  highest  satisfaction  which  the  esthetic  ele- 
ment of  our  nature  is  capable  of  enjoying.  What 
grand  imagery  is  drawn  from  the  starry  heavens; 
what  poetic  flights  into  fathomless  space !  The 
doors  of  the  spiritual  world  are  opened,  and  mortals 
hold  converse  with  the  eternals.  Where,  in  all  fields 
of  poetry,  ancient  or  modern,  do  we  find  a  charm 
like  this : 

"  'In  thoughts  from  the  vision  of  the  night 

When  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  man, 

Fear  came  upon  me  and  trembling, 

Which  made  my  bones  to  shake. 

Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face, — 

The  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up, — 

And  stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the  form 

thereof 

An  image  was  before  mine  eyes. 
There  was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice  saying — 
Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God? 
Shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  maker?' 


'B'2  GRANDMOTHER 

"These  are  the  words  of  old  Job;  have  they  ever 
been  surpassed?" 

"One  line  from  Solomon  contains  a  volume  of 
poetic  thought:  'His  banner  over  us  is  love,'  "  said 
Edgar  Mills,  looking  out  from  his  curtained  seat 
in  the  window. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  paragraph  of  pure  and  per- 
fect English,"  said  the  host,  opening  a  volume  of 
Milton.  "It  does  not  depend  upon  alliteration  of 
words,  nor  the  harmony  of  rhyme ;  but  this  old  prince 
of  poets  stirs  the  soul  with  sad  sympathy  as  we  fol- 
low our  first  parents  from  the  Eden-Paradise  into 
the  world  of  storms  and  wild  beasts.  In  this  closing 
paragraph,  we  have  the  very  perfection  of  the  high- 
est art,  a  jewel  imperishable  as  the  soul  itself: 

"  'Some  natural  tears  they  dropped,  but  wiped  them 

soon: 

The  world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide. 
They,  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way.'  ' 

When  Richard  Kendrick  closed  the  book  from 
which  he  had  been  reading,  Dr.  Harding,  appearing 
at  the  door  of  the  music-room,  quoted : 

'  'Music  the   fiercest  grief  can  charm, 
And  fate's  severest  rage  disarm, 
Music  can  soften  pain  to  ease, 
And  make  despair  and  madness  please; 
Our  joys  below  it  can  improve, 
And  antidote  the  bliss  above.' 

"In  the  language  of  Pope,  Mrs.  Kendrick,  I  am 
commissioned  to  remind  you  that  the  musical  mem- 
bers of  your  party  are  impatiently  awaiting  the  ful- 
filment of  your  promise,"  and  he  offered  her  his  arm. 


GRANDMOTHER  83 

Judge  Johnson  watched  them  pass  into  the  musio 
'room,  and  turned  again  to  the  discussion  of  poetical 
gems.  "When  Lord  McCauley  was  first  critic  of 
England,  he  pronounced  a  verse  of  Mrs.  Barbould's 
the  most  perfect  specimen  of  a  single  verse  ever 
written,  and  it  was  said  that  he  would  rather  have 
been  the  author  of  it  than  to  have  written  Homer's 
'Iliad.'  " 

"Can  you  repeat  it?"  asked  Richard  Kendrick; 
"or  shall  I  look  it  up  in  Bryant's  collection?" 

The  Judge  quoted: 

"  'Life,  we  have  been  long  together 

Through  pleasant  and  through  stormy  weather. 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear, — 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear, 
Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time, 
Say  not  good-night,  but  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  good-morning.' 

"Have  you  anything  from  Shakespeare  that  will 
equal  that,  Mrs.  Elliot?" 

"Our  club  has  done  very  thorough  work  in 
Shakespeare  this  year,"  replied  the  minister's  wife. 
"Still,  I  dare  not  venture  among  his  perfect  gems 
to  say  which  are  diamonds  and  which  are  sapphires. 
His  work  is  like  nature  herself,  delving  into  the 
deepest  mines  and  ocean  caves  for  sparkling  gems, 
and  spreading  them  out  as  stars  in  the  midnight 
sky,  bidding  us  dare  to  say  which  is  the  brightest." 

"True,"  said  her  husband.  "In  Shakespeare,  we 
might  glean  from  morn  till  night,  like  one  roaming 
over  vast  prairie  lands  in  summer  time,  when  he 
views  the  outstretching  acres  of  marigold  and  blue 
and  crimson  flowers  tinging  the  atmosphere  and  sky 
with  their  gorgeous  hues,  and  stopping  at  each  step 
to  find  a  rare  and  lovely  blossom  of  delicate  coloring 


84  GRANDMOTHER 

and  shape,  in  turn  to  throw  it  aside  to  gather  yet 
more  beauties  that  plead  for  recognition." 

"I  like  to  wander  in  the  workshop  of  Pope,"  said 
Judge  Johnson,  "and  see  him  rasp  and  file  his  trench- 
ant measures  into  rhythmic  beauty;  and,  when  amid 
so  much  or  so  many  vulgar  platitudes,  we  find  a  real 
gem,  we  are  constrained  to  read  and  read  again.  I 
estimate  the  song,  'A  Dying  Christian  to  His  Soul,' 
above  'The  Universal  Prayer,'  ' 

"It's  more  orthodox,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  "and  a 
favorite  of  mine." 

"Xjive  it,  please,"  requested  the  host. 

"  'Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame 
Quit,  oh!  quit  this  mortal  frame, 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying, 
Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying. 
Cease  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
Let  me  languish  into  life. 

"  'Hark !  they  whisper,  angels  say 
Sister  Spirit  come  away; 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath, 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death? 

'The  world  recedes,  it  disappears; 
Heaven  opens  on  my  sight,  my  ears 
With  sounds  seraphic  ring. 
Lend,  lend  your  wings.    I  mount,  I  fly, 
Oh  grave,  where  is  thy  victory, 
Oh,  death,  where  is  thy  sting.'  ' 

"It  is  indeed  in  the  realms  of  the  religious  that 
the  poets  have  been  at  their  best,"  asserted  Judge 
Johnson.  "We  shut  our  eyes  to  the  blemished  life 
of  Lord  Byron,  and  follow  him  in  some  of  his  grand- 


GRANDMOTHER  85 

est  flights,  as  in  the  fourth  canto  of  'Childe  Harold,' 
where  the  numbers  seem  to  flow  from  some  godlike 
hero  of  a  mythological  age.  Yet,  when  his  soul  was 
chastened  to  sing  some  echoes  of  divine  truth,  as  in 
the  'Destruction  of  Sennacherib,'  we  catch  glimpses 
of  the  divine  afflatus  that  make  us  wish  the  wander- 
ings of  Don  Juan  had  been  the  record  of  a  Christian 
pilgrimage;  so,  too,  with  Thomas  Moore.  The  pur- 
est draught  of  the  Castalian  font  never  inspired  in 
him  truer  poetic  fire  than  was  breathed  out  under 
the  influence  of  religious  thought,  as  in  his  soul- 
solacing  hymns." 

"Montgomery,  Coleridge,  and  Campbell  have 
gems  of  religious  thought,  too,  that  will  shine  while 
Christian  fervor  animates  human  hearts,"  said  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Elliot. 

"Coming  down  to  our  own  century,"  continued 
Mr.  Kendrick,  "we  have  mines  in  our  native  land 
where  gems  of  the  purest  water  have  been  found." 

"  'Sermons  in  books  and  stones  in  running 
brooks,'  "  read  Edgar  Mills,  coming  from  behind 
the  window  drapery. 

"Quote  correctly,  young  man,"  said  Judge  John- 
son. 

"I  have  it  from  the  Digest,"  laughed  Edgar. 
"Things  pungent.  Miss  Inez  may  give  it — 'As  You 
Like  It.'  She's  a  member  of  the  Shakespeare  Club." 

"Don't  let  him  place  any  approbrium  upon  our 
club,"  encouraged  Mrs.  Elliot,  smiling  at  Inez.  "He 
should  have  crucified  his  quotation  a  little  more  by 
adding,  'tongues  to  tease.'  ' 

"  'Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones  and  good  in  everything,'  ' 

— repeated  Inez  Ellis. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  began  Richard  Kendrick,  we 
find  diamonds  in  Longfellow,  pearls  in  Bryant,  ru- 


86  GRANDMOTHER 

bies  in  Whittier;  while  Holmes,  Lowell,  and  Poe 
bring  up  the  collection  in  the  casket  till  we  have 
the  whole  catalogue  of  precious  stones.  We  have 
hosts  of  American  poets  who  have  written  verses 
that  should  have  a  place  in  the  galaxy  of  song,  and 
some  future  Bryant  may  yet  more  wisely  choose  of 
the  purest  and  best." 

"In  the  earlier  days,"  added  Judge  Johnson, 
"when  Holmes  was  yet  young  and  Longfellow  taught 
the  language  at  Cambridge,  Fitz-Green  Halleck, 
Rodman  Drake,  Alice  and  Phoebe  Gary,  George  D. 
Prentice,  and  other  young  poets  that  followed  in 
their  train  and  adorned  the  pages  of  the  American 
newspapers,  wrote  many  a  poem  that  will  be  as  im- 
mortal as  the  language.  Prentice's  lines  at  Cave 
Hill  cemetery  over  the  grave  of  his  mother  are  as 
beautiful  and  have  touches  as  truly  poetic  as  any 
line  of  Gray's  'Elegy.'  The  tribute  of  Halleck  to 
the  memory  of  Drake  is  as  tender  as  Byron's  'Fare- 
well to  Moore.' ' 

"Then,  too,'  "  commented  the  minister,  "there 
have  appeared  in  our  magazine  literature  many  gems 
without  a  name,  and  yet  they  will  live  and  be  cher- 
ished by  the  lovers  of  true  poetry.  Let  me  give  you 
a  specimen,  and,  if  you  have  ever  had  a  taste  of  the 
font  of  Castalia,  you  will  recognize  the  poetic  soul 
finding  the  precious  gem,  but  lacking  the  lapidary's 
art  to  dress  and  shapen,  so  its  brilliance  may  appear: 

"  'Birds  are  singing  round  my  window, 
Songs  the  sweetest  ever  heard — 
[And  I  hang  my  cage  there  daily, 
But  I  never  catch  a  bird. 

w  'Thus  my  brain  with  thoughts  is  peopled 

And  they  sing  there  all  day  long, 
But  they  will  not  fold  their  pinions 
In  the  little  cage  of  song.' 


GRANDMOTHER  87, 

"Isn't  that  a  little  pearl?" 

"That's  my  experience  exactly,"  said  Edgar  Mills. 
"The  thoughts  are  here,  flying  in  every  direction, 
never  forming  into  tangible  shape  or,  perhaps  I  had 
better  say,  into  acceptable  poems,  for  I  did  write  a 
poem  once,  and  I  was  so  sure  that  it  was  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  muse,  Erato,  that  I  had  it  returned  by 
twenty-seven  magazines  before  I  was  convinced  to 
the  contrary." 

"No  doubt  Erato  inspired  the  theme,  but  Poly- 
hymnia withheld  her  aid,"  laughed  the  minister. 
"Music  is  as  essential  as  sentiment." 

"Sacred  words  in  a  setting  of  lofty  music  is  one 
of  the  strongest  influences  for  good  in  the  world," 
said  Mrs.  Harding,  who  had  come  into  the  library 
and  stood  with  her  hand  on  her  brother's  shoulder. 
"It  brings  the  soul  into  communion  with  things  most 
pure  and  holy.  But  the  poet  who  comprehends  the 
child  nature  and  has  a  clear  conception  of  the  mys- 
teries of  a  mother's  heart,  can  touch  a  chord  in  the 
soul  that  vibrates  with  the  keenest  enjoyment,  that 
peculiar  pleasure  that  mingles  the  smile  with  the 
tear.  In  our  last  magazine  is  a  gem  of  this  kind. 
You  read  it,  Brother."  She  opened  to  the  page, 
saying:  "It  touches  me  too  tenderly,  for  I  have  just 
started  our  little  boys  to  school." 

THE  FAREWELL  TO  THE  FAIRIES. 

They  came  in  the  dusk  and  the  darkness, 
To  the  bed  of  the  boy  who  had  grown 

From  a  wee,  dimpled,  golden-haired  baby 
To  a  lad  who  six  summers  had  known. 

They  hovered  above  the  fair  sleeper, 
Then  into  his  dream  drifted  down, 

And  showed  him  the  heart  he  was  breaking, 
Hearts  of  Fairies  of  childhood  renown. 


£8  GRANDMOTHER 

And  first  came  the  Prince  and  the  Beauty, 
Who  slept  in  the  magical  Wood, 

And  roused  the  dear  head  from  its  slumbers, 
As  only  the  Fairy  Prince  could. 

Then  all  of  the  fairies  and  goblins 
Climbed  up  on  the  boy's  little  bed, 

And  kissed  their  good-byes  to  their  playmates, 
And  all  of  their  fare-ye-wells  said. 

The  Babes  in  the  Wood  stood  before  him 

And  waved  him  a  baby's  adieu; 
He  saw  them  drift  off  through  the  forest, 

Where  robins  then  hid  them  from  view. 

And  Jack,  who  murdered  the  Giant, 

Would  ever  in  Giant-land  be, 
"I'll  cut  it  again  at  the  bottom 

And  pull  the  stalks  up  after  me." 

And  there  stood  the  fair  Cinderella 
And  blew  him  of  kisses  a  score, 

Then  called  for  coach  and  her  footman 
And  sped  to  the  land  of  No  More. 

And  dainty  Red  Riding-Hood  stood  there, 
And  tearfully  bade  him  farewell, 

Then  wandered  away  through  the  Woodland, 
Where  the  Wolf  ate  her  up,  he  knew  well. 

Then  Great  Big  and  Big  and  the  Wee  Bears 
Came  tumbling  down  to  his  bed; 

"Who  milk  from  our  bowls  has  been  drinking, 
We  care  now  no  more,"  the  Bears  said. 

At  last  there  was  none  save  the  sandman; 

Just  then  did  the  fair  head  embark 
Again  on  the  ocean  of  slumber, 

So  the  Sandman  slipped  off  through  the  dark. 


GRANDMOTHER  89 

The  dreamer  awoke  in  the  morning. 

Hugged  tight  his  new  slate  and  his  rule, 

Nor  saw  the  tear  start  as  his  mother 
Sent  him  off  on  his  first  day  of  school. 

The  wee,  dimpled,  golden-haired  baby, 
Who  once  all  the  Fairies  had  known, 

Had  told  her  farewell  like  the  Fairies, 
To  boyhood  from  babyhood  grown. 

Richard  Kendrick  closed  the  magazine  and  looked 
up  at  his  sister.  The  poem  had  awakened  responsive 
chords,  tuned  to  different  keys;  a  minor  strain  of  dis- 
appointment; a  major  song  of  gratitude,  childless 
and  children.  An  embarrassing  silence  was  saved 
by  a  movement  toward  the  music-room,  and  Edgar 
Mills  and  Inez  Ellis  escaped  from  their  alcove. 

"Let's  go  into  the  drawing-room,  away  from  so 
many  people,"  begged  Inez.  "I'd  rather  look  at 
pictures  than  quote  poetry,  because  I  can't  remember 
correctly." 

"Come  look  at  this  painting  of  Frith's  and  tell  me 
who  it's  like,"  said  Edgar,  stopping  before  a  copy 
of  "The  Rejected  Poet." 

Inez  examined  the  painting  without  comment. 

"Don't  you  remember  the  poet,  that  Dr.  Harding 
quoted  a  while  ago?"  asked  Edgar. 

"Yes;  he  quoted  from  Pope.  Is  the  poet  in  this 
picture  supposed  to  be  Pope?"  she  asked.  "Then, 
who  is  the  lady?" 

"It  is  Lady  Mary  Martley  Montague,"  replied 
Edgar;  "but  it's  not  so  much  the  prototype,  as  the 
counterpart,  that  interests  me." 

"That  little  Cupid  and  Psyche  in  the  background 
constitute  the  prettiest  part  of  the  picture.  I  don't 
like  the  lady.  She  is  beautiful;  but  she  is  mercilessly 
enjoying  the  poet's  humiliation,"  said  Inez. 

"That's  just  the  crux  of  the  matter.     Come,  let 


90  GRANDMOTHER 

us  find  them  in  the  music-room."  Edgar  led  the 
way  through  groups  standing  or  sitting  in  different 
parts  of  the  rooms,  or  promenading  through  the 
hall. 

"Listen!  listen!"  whispered  Inez.  "She  is  playing 
'The  Spinning  Song'  from  the  'Flying  Dutchman.' 
O  such  execution!  It  thrills  me  through  and 
through." 

"Now,  were  I  to  say  that,  you  would  think  it  was 
the  player  and  not  the  playing  that  pleased  me," 
teased  Edgar. 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  replied  Inez,  trying  to  force 
back  a  tear.  "I  know  that  it  is  Mrs.  Kendrick's  per- 
sonality that  makes  her  music  so  exquisite." 

"Yes,  the  atmosphere,  the  aura  in  the  sound- 
waves, expressing  the  harmony  and  beauty  of  her 
character;  it  is  that  which  exerts  so  powerful  an  in- 
fluence," said  Judge  Johnson,  softly. 

Mrs.  Kendrick  finished  her  selection  and  clasped 
her  dainty  fingers  in  the  silk  folds  of  her  skirt  and 
remained  in  an  attitude  of  absorption.  The  mo- 
ment was  one  of  exultation,  an  experience  long  to 
be  remembered.  Her  guests — among  whom  were 
senators,  judges,  doctors,  lawyers,  and  ministers — 
had  forgotten  their  books,  politics,  and  religion,  fas- 
cinated with  the  wonderful  technique  of  Wagnerian 
music.  The  silence  was  insistent,  and  she  slipped  her 
fingers  back  to  the  keyboard,  and,  for  a  moment, 
arpeggioed  through  soft  minor  chords  and  took  up 
Chopin's  "Revolutionary  Etude."  The  wildest  emo- 
tion of  which  the  musical  nature  is  capable  was 
stirred  by  the  dynamic  shading  of  those  deep,  rumb- 
ling, rolling,  full-toned  legato  runs,  with  here  and 
there  an  accentuated  gymnastic  that  surged  up  and 
down,  threatening,  daring,  compelling,  like  the  Po- 
land nation  fermenting  an  upheaval  that  would  over- 
throw the  oppression  of  the  tyrant. 

With  only  a  pause  between  and  a  few  modulating 


GRANDMOTHER  91 

chords,  the  hostess  began  "F  Nocturne."  She  was 
gratified  by  hearing  a  sigh  of  relief  and  relaxed  ten- 
sion, but  felt  that  a  sadder,  more  tender  emotion 
would  vibrate  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  could  grasp 
the  depth  of  melancholy  and  longing  for  the  love  and 
sympathy  of  the  friend,  which  filled  the  soul  of 
Chopin  when  he  wrote  this  nocturne.  A  sensation 
of  unalloyed  happiness  thrilled  her  as  she  rose  from 
the  piano,  a  lofty  pride  and  loving  appreciation. 

The  hour  was  late,  and  hasty  "good-nights"  and 
"perfectly  lovely  time,"  followed. 

Walking  home,  Inez  Ellis  asked  of  her  compan- 
ion :  "What  did  you  mean  by  the  counterpart  to 
'The  Rejected  Poet'  picture?  I  forgot  all  about  it 
when  we  heard  the  music." 

"Forget  it  still,"  said  Edgar  Mills.  "I  was  only 
joking." 

"Then  go  on  with  your  joke;  or  am  I  like  the 
English,  too  slow  to  comprehend?"  she  replied. 

"You  knew  the  brother-in-law  once  tried  to  marry 
the  sister,  didn't  you?"  asked  Edgar. 

"Do  you  mean  that  Doctor  Harding  was  in  love 
with  Mrs.  Kendrick?" 

"To  put  it  plainly,  yes — with  Miss  Mabel  Mur- 
ratt,  now  Mrs.  Kendrick." 

"O  but  she's  nothing  like  the  lady  in  the  picture. 
She  wouldn't  laugh  at  his  disappointment,"  averred 
Inez. 

"Women  do  strange  things.  They  were  quoting 
poetry  to  each  other  before  the  guests  arrived." 

"It  was  harmless,  if  they  were.  I  don't  like  you 
to  talk  that  way.  Those  people  are  all  perfectly 
lovely,"  pouted  Inez. 

"I  didn't  mean  any  harm.  You  know  that  I'm 
in  love  with  our  hostess  myself,"  the  boy  replied. 

Inez  let  go  of  his  arm  and  walked  apart. 

"None  of  this,  little  girl,"  said  Edgar.  "You're 
the  sweetest  and  prettiest  and  darlingest  girlie  in 


'92  GRANDMOTHER 

the  world,  and  the  hardest  to  get  along  with.  You 
ask  questions  and  pout  if  I  answer." 

"O  look  at  the  moon  coming  from  that  cloud. 
Isn't  it  bright?"  cried  the  girl. 

"Yes,  stand  still  a  minute."  The  boy  drew  Inez's 
chiffon  scarf  close  around  her  neck,  and  held  her 
face  up  toward  the  moon,  saying,  "I  would  rather 
look  at  you  with  it  'luminating  your  face  and  eyes 
than " 

"O  hush,  Edgar.  Tell  me  what  you  see  in  the 
moon;  not  my  face,"  she  pulled  away,  laughing. 

"Green  cheese,  of  course,"  said  he,  demurely. 
"I  hope  I  see  something  sweeter  than  that  in  your 
face." 

"No,  sir,  not  cheese.     Your  grandmother." 

"Ah!  ah!  girlie.  Don't  say  you  never  used  slang. 
I'll  report  you  to  the  Shakespeare  Club,"  teased 
the  boy. 

"Shakespeare  used  slang,  and  I  don't.  Grand- 
mother isn't  slang,"  she  averred.  "Now  listen  to 
what  Longfellow  said  about  the  moon  in  'Hiawatha' : 

"  'Once  a  warrior  very  angry 

Seized  his  grandmother  and  he  threw  her, 
Up  into  the  sky  he  threw  her  — 
Right  against  the  moon  he  threw  her, 
'Tis  her  image  that  you  see  there.' 

"Is  there  any  slang  in  that?" 

The  incorrigible  boy  replied:  "Your  grand- 
mother is  slang.  Longfellow  isn't.  I  thought  you 
couldn't  repeat  poetry." 

"I  can't,  much.  I  wish  you  would  recite  the  poem 
you  sent  to  the  magazine,"  she  asked. 

"I'll  say  it  to  you  if  you  will  promise  to  believe 
it,"  he  stated. 

"I'll  try;  but  I  must  hear  it  first,"  she  said. 

"We're  too  near  home.     It's  long.     May  I  come 


GRANDMOTHER  93 

round  to-morrow  evening  and  repeat  it?  Thank 
you,  expect  me." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendrick  and  Mrs.  Harding  stood 
on  the  broad  veranda  and  watched  Judge  Johnson, 
the  last  of  the  departing  guests,  as  he  went  down 
the  tile  walk,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  disappear  past 
the  lion  couchant  on  the  marble  pillow. 

"Come,  Richard,  let's  go  over  and  look  at  the 
boys.  It  was  so  dear  of  them  to  send  their  mamma 
with  kisses  for  me  to-night,"  asked  Mabel  Kendrick, 
gathering  up  her  skirts. 

"I'm  very  tired,  dear,  and  have  some  important 
letters  to  write  before  I  can  go  to  bed,"  replied 
her  husband.  "The  boys  are  asleep." 

"They're  such  beauties  asleep;  little  Richard  es- 
pecially. Come,  please,  just  over  and  back  imme- 
diately," she  pleaded. 

"Come,  Brother,  I'll  not  let  you  take  time  to 
sit  down,"  urged  Mrs.  Harding,  yet  feeling  a  deep 
sympathy  for  her  brother,  knowing  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  give  all  his  wealth,  could  he  have  one 
boy  of  his  own. 

Dr.  Harding  was  sauntering  back  and  forth  on 
the  lawn,  with  a  lowering  brow  and  clenched  hands. 
He  was  harking  back  to  the  time  when  he  believed 
he  could  have  married  this  beautiful  woman,  instead 
of  the  homely  mother  of  his  children.  He  had  been 
mistaken  in  his  impression  that  Luella  Kendrick's 
was  the  largest  individual  fortune  in  the  city;  and, 
when  her  brother  married  the  girl  that  he  really 
loved,  it  was  hard  for  him  to  separate  her  from  the 
object  of  his  hatred.  The  knowledge  that  Mabel 
loved  his  children,  stirred  his  heart  to  its  blackest 
depths.  Then,  too,  the  fact  that  they  were  happy 
and  he  a  disappointed  man,  awakened  the  most 
wicked  impulses  of  his  tyrannical  nature.  His  early 
and  absorbing  ambition  had  been  to  be  the  social 
leader  of  this  city's  "four  hundred";  and  he  had  let 


94  GRANDMOTHER 

avarice  turn  him  in  the  wrong  track.  With  his  plain, 
uncomely  wife,  he  could  scarcely  hold  secondary 
place.  He  knew  that  she  was  good;  he  had  daily 
manifestations  of  her  patience;  but  he  would  rather 
have  had  her  brilliant  and  devilish,  than  good  and 
tiresome.  He  had  no  pride  in  his  boys  because  they 
were  goody-goody  like  their  mother.  Could  he  have 
known  the  disappointment  and  sadness  in  Richard 
Kendrick's  heart,  his  bitterness  would  have  had  some 
amelioration. 

"Aren't  they  little  beauties,"  gushed  Mabel,  kiss- 
ing the  boys  gently,  as  they  lay  sleeping  in  their  soft, 
white  bed. 

"Don't  you  wish  little  Richard  was  yours?"  asked 
Richard  Kendrick,  looking  at  his  wife  with  tender 
affection. 

"No,  indeed.  I  could  not  love  them  then.  They 
would  worry  me  to  death.  You're  all  the  boy  I 
want."  She  took  his  face  in  her  hands  and  kissed 
him  rapturously. 

Luella  Harding  stooped  over  her  boys  and  a  tear 
fell  as  she  kissed  their  flushed  cheeks.  It  had  been 
a  long  time  since  she  dared  offer  an  impulsive  caress 
to  her  husband;  though  she  never  complained  or 
tried  to  understand  why  he  was  so  cold  and  unre- 
sponsive. She  simply  prayed  to  be  worthy  of  him 
and  her  boys. 

"Good-night,  Doctor,"  said  Richard,  passing 
Harding  in  the  hall,  as  they  came  from  the  nursery. 
"I  envy  you  your  two  fine  boys."  Luella  followed 
her  brother  to  the  lawn. 

"They  are  such  lovable  little  tots,"  said  Mabel, 
tenderly. 

"They  are  not  so  very  little.  Dick  may  be  small 
for  an  eight-year-old;  but  Tom  will  be  a  large  man," 
replied  Dr.  Harding,  holding  Mabel's  hand  in  a 
strong  clasp. 


GRANDMOTHER  95 

"Eight  years  old!  O  yes;  I  remember  now.  He 
was  born  the  year  we  were  married,"  began  Mabel. 

"And  we  could  not  attend  the  wedding."  The 
Doctor  looked  deep  into  her  lustrous  eyes,  hoping 
for  an  expression  that  he  could  not  find. 

"When  you  were  married,  we  all  went  to  the  Cen- 
tennial at  Philadelphia.  That  was  six  months  after 
dear  mamma's  illness,"  said  Mabel,  softly. 

"And  the  Judge  told  me  you  would  be  left  money- 
less," sneered  the  Doctor. 

"You  forget  that  we  'buried  the  hatchet'  when  we 
decided  to  build  our  new  homes  side  by  side.  Why 
can't  you  be  a  good  brother  instead  of  always  dig- 
ging up  old  scores  and  pretending  to  be  disap- 
pointed and  miserable,"  she  said,  reprovingly. 

"Come,  Mabel,  I  am  keeping  Luella  out  here  in 
the  dew,"  called  Richard  from  the  lawn. 

"Good-night,"  and  Mabel  offered  her  hand  to  the 
Doctor  again. 

"All  right,  Sister,  I'll  try  to  keep  the  hatchet  out 
of  sight.  Good-night."  He  impulsively  caught  her 
to  him  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

Mabel  Kendrick  ran  out  on  the  lawn,  threw  one 
arm  around  Luella  and  the  other  around  her  hus- 
band, and,  drawing  them  together,  said:  "Kiss  your 
brother,  Luella,  and  come  over  in  the  morning  and 
help  me  decide  about  my  guests  for  the  theatre- 
party." 

Richard  pressed  his  lips  to  his  sister's  forehead 
tenderly,  and,  gathering  his  wife's  skirts,  carefully 
lifted  her  to  his  breast  and  carried  her  over  the 
dewy  grass. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   BERNADOTTE   BALL. 

The  last  winter  had  been  a  full,  and  to  most,  a 
happy  one;  but  it  was  meagre  in  comparison  with 
the  extravagant  social  functions  planned  for  the 
coming  season.  Mrs.  Kendrick  had  been  the  so- 
ciety leader  in  arranging  for  three  separate  courses 
of  amusement  and  entertainment.  Her  personal  at- 
tractions and  great  wealth,  and  the  political  influence 
of  her  husband,  who  had  risen  to  the  honorable  po- 
sition of  City  Mayor,  gave  her  almost  unlimited 
power.  The  manager  of  the  Metropolitan  Theatre 
was  to  provide  five  or  six  weeks  of  grand  opera,  in 
which  Neilson,  Lucca,  Patti,  and  other  stars  were 
to  sing,  also  a  series  of  musicales,  where  the  vir- 
tuosos, Paderewski,  Rubinstein,  Ole  Bull,  and  Von 
Bulow  were  to  play.  Furthermore,  there  was  a  lec- 
ture course,  for  which  Dr.  Robinson,  Stanton,  G  .W. 
Bain,  Henry  Watterson,  and  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
were  engaged.  The  crowning  event  of  the  season, 
however,  was  to  be  a  grand  ball  in  honor  of  the 
Right  Honorable  Knight  of  the  Royal  North  Star 
of  Sweden,  Bernadotte,  who  was  to  visit  this  coun- 
try. The  women  were  in  a  fever  of  delightful  an- 
ticipation over  this  affair.  The  elegance  of  the 
dresses  ordered  from  Paris  had  filled  Worth  with 
enthusiastic  pride.  Those  who  did  not  receive  an 
invitation  to  this  party,  knew  that  they  were  doomed 
to  social  oblivion  henceforth. 

Little  circles  were  formed,  quietly,  to   read  up 


GRANDMOTHER  97, 

on  Scandinavian  history,  that  they  might  be  con- 
versant with  the  Bernadotte  dynasty  in  that  romantic 
land.  Grieg's  music  was  studied  by  most  of  the  musi- 
cians in  the  city.  Corelli's  novels  and  Bjornson's 
stories  were  read  and  discussed. 

"The  plans  for  the  building  are  in  the  hands  of 
the  architect,  Mrs.  Kendrick,  and  we  have  about 
secured  the  necessary  funds,"  said  Judge  Johnson. 

The  carriage  containing  the  two  friends  and  Mrs. 
Harding  was  returning  from  the  city  park  near  which 
the  building  was  to  be  erected  for  the  Bernadotte 
Ball. 

"Do  you  think  we  shall  have  sufficient  money  to 
carry  out  all  my  designs  for  decorations?  I  want 
the  Nixy's  chord  illustrated  above  the  orchestra. 
The  mystery  of  that  wonderful  violinist,  as  Bjorn- 
son  portrays  him,  will  be  an  inspiration  to  our  musi- 
cians. On  pedestals  in  the  reception  room,  there 
must  be  statues  of  Thor,  Woden,  and  Frigga,  and, 
on  the  rostrum,  I  want  Oscar  II  with  his  Bible  in  his 
hand,  emblematic  of  the  Christian  king,"  planned 
Mabel  Kendrick. 

"A  Bible  in  a  ball-room,"  laughed  Luella  Hard- 
ing. 

"You  don't  suppose  any  of  us  would  dance  if  we 
thought  it  was  wrong,  do  you,  Luella?"  Mabel 
replied.  "Still,  I'm  more  concerned  about  getting  a 
good  likeness  of  the  king,  than  I  am  about  the 
Bible." 

"If  the  Right  Honorable  Knight  of  the  North 
Star  of  Sweden  does  not  recognize  his  Christian 
monarch,  he  will  not  appreciate  your  statues,"  said 
Luella,  still  smiling. 

"You  are  not  enthusiastic,  Mrs.  Harding,"  said 
the  Judge.  "The  city  is  indebted  to  your  sister-in- 
law  for  the  honor  of  this  royal  visit.  I  sincerely 
hope  nothing  will  occur  to  mar  her  pleasure  in  it." 

"I   never  knew  Luella  to  be  enthusiastic  about 


98  GRANDMOTHER 

anything  but  her  children,"  said  Mabel,  good- 
naturedly. 

They  stopped  in  front  of  their  home,  and  the 
boys  came  running  and  begging  for  a  ride. 

"Aunt  Mabel,  take  us  in,  won't  you  please,  and 
let  me  sit  with  the  driver.  Please  take  us,  Aunt 
Mabel,"  begged  Richard,  the  older. 

"You'll  not  throw  the  driver  out  and  take  the 
reins  yourself?"  questioned  Mabel,  smiling  at  the 
boys. 

"Not  if  you'll  let  me  drive  you  all  alone  when 
I'm  strong  enough  to  hold  the  team,"  the  boy  re- 
plied, seriously. 

"Of  course  I  shall,  my  little  lover.  Tommy,  get 
in  with  Judge  Johnson.  We'll  take  him  to  his  hotel," 
said  Mrs.  Kendrick. 

"Don't  ask  for  any  longer  ride  this  time,"  the 
mother  urged. 

"Must  we  go  by  the  office  and  get  papa?"  ques- 
tioned Tommy,  reluctantly. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better,"  his  mother  replied. 

"My,  but  these  are  bully  horses !  I  wish  you  lived 
farther  away,"  said  Tommy  as  the  rig  stopped  at 
the  Judge's  hotel. 

"You  do?"  asked  Judge  Johnson,  assuming  an 
injured  air. 

"I  mean,"  stammered  the  little  fellow,  "I  wish 
we  could  have  a  longer  ride  before  we  reached  your 
place." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Command  me,  ladies,  whenever 
I  can  be  of  service,"  said  the  Judge,  as  he  left  the 
carriage. 

"Thank  you;  au  revoir,"  and  Mabel  waved  a 
farewell. 

"Why  are  you  so  sober,  dear?"  asked  Mabel, 
turning  to  Luella,  after  she  had  directed  the  driver 
to  call  at  the  Doctor's  office.  "You're  not  feeling 
well,  I  know;  but  you  will  be  all  right  and  well 


GRANDMOTHER  99 

again  before  the  ball.  Besides,  you  must  not  worry. 
It's  bad  for  you." 

Luella  forced  back  the  tears  and  replied:  "I 
don't  care  very  much  for  the  ball  except  on  the  Doc- 
tor's account.  He  is  so  vexed  with  me." 

"Just  as  though  you  were  to  blame." 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Luella,  "I  don't  think  he 
blames  me ;  but  he  would  like  to  have  me  dress  more, 
entertain,  and  go  out  with  him." 

"But  he  knows  you  have  always  been  a  great  home 
body,"  said  Mabel.  "Richard  says  he  wishes  some 
scientist  would  invent  a  contrivance  in  which  he  could 
place  his  wife  and  sister,  and,  by  some  kind  of  crux, 
make  a  composite  whole,  which,  divided,  would  so 
separate  the  component  parts  as  to  make  a  wife  less 
absorbed  in  the  grand  things  of  living  and  a  sister 
less  in  love  with  her  own  domesticity." 

"And  what  does  Thomas  think?"  asked  Luella. 

"O  the  Doctor  thinks  you  are  too  good,  and  I  am 
too  bad,"  laughed  Mabel. 

The  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  the  Doctor's 
office.  "Go  up  and  get  your  papa,  boys.  We  shall 
wait  here,"  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

"You  go,  Dick;  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Tommy. 

"No,  you  go,  Tom,  I  have  to  watch  the  horses," 
Richard  objected. 

"Both  of  you  go,"  gently  commanded  the  mother. 

"They  piled  out  of  the  carriage  and  started  on  a 
race  down  the  street,  crying:  "O  yonder's  Uncle 
Richard." 

Mabel  smiled  into  Luella's  sad  face,  saying: 
"Children,  like  dogs,  recognize  a  friend  by  instinct." 

While  they  were  waiting  for  the  return  of  the  chil- 
dren, a  messenger  came  down  from  the  office  to  say 
that  Dr.  Harding  has  seen  them  waiting;  but  he 
would  not  be  able  to  go  home  until  later.  He  was 
busy  in  some  important  experiments.  When  the 
boys  returned,  they  each  had  a  bag  of  confections 


ioo  GRANDMOTHER 

and  a  new  toy.  Tommy's  was  a  solid  rubber  ball 
with  which  Richard  and  his  nephews  teased  the 
women  as  they  drove  home,  by  tossing  the  ball  up 
at  an  angle  that  would  enable  them  to  catch  it  de- 
scending when  they  drove  under  it.  The  horses 
were  stopped  half  a  dozen  times  between  the  office 
and  the  avenue,  and  Richard  took  his  turn  in  get- 
ting out  after  the  ball. 


"There  is  a  party  going  up  the  river  in  the  launch 
to-morrow  night  and  have  supper  on  the  beach,"  said 
Dr.  Harding  to  his  wife,  a  few  weeks  later.  "I 
want  you  to  go.  Leave  the  boys  with  their  nurse." 

"Thomas,  I'd  rather  you  would  take  the  boys 
and  leave  me  at  home;  I'm  not  in  a  condition  to 
go,"  replied  Luella. 

"There  will  be  no  young  people  but  that  rattle- 
brained Edgar  Mills  and  Inez  Ellis  and  a  couple  of 
their  friends.  Besides,  I  can't  be  annoyed  with  Dick 
and  Tommy.  But,  of  course,  you  have  more  con- 
sideration for  your  own  comfort  than  for  my  pleas- 
ure." 

His  wife  never  replied  to  a  taunt,  but  answered 
gently:  "If  it  is  cool,  and  I  can  wear  my  loose  silk 
coat,  I  will  go." 

Mrs.  Harding  waited  until  her  husband  had  gone 
to  his  office.  Then,  knowing  that  Mabel  could  man- 
age to  have  the  boys  included  in  the  picnic  party,  she 
ran  over  to  her  brother's  home.  She  found  her 
sister-in-law  reclining  in  a  Morris-chair,  a  silk  wrap- 
per falling  loosely  about  her  lace-encased  ankles,  a 
mass  of  rich  Duchess  lace  caressing  her  soft  white 
throat,  and  a  chiffon  scarf,  which  fell  across  her 
breast,  rising  and  falling  with  the  throbs  of  deep 
emotion.  There  was  sorrow  and  rebellion  in  the 
expression  of  her  beautiful  face.  She  was  crushing 
the  petals  of  an  American-beauty  rose,  while  tears 
flooded  her  large  eyes. 


101 

"Why,  Mabel!"  said  Luella.  "What  can  be  the 
matter?  You  in  trouble!  I  never  found  you  so  be- 
fore." 

Mabel  Kendrick  could  not  control  her  voice  suf- 
ficiently to  trust  herself  to  speak.  As  she  looked  at 
Luella,  standing  before  her,  in  unshapely  condition, 
her  beauty-loving,  esthetic  nature  revolted  at  the  re- 
membrance of  the  punishment  that  God  pronounced 
on  Eve  for  her  sin  of  coveting  greater  knowledge, 
when  He  said:  "In  sorrow  shalt  thou " 

"I  am  continually  coming  to  you  with  my  troubles, 
Sister ;  let  me  share  your  burden  once,"  Luella  urged, 
drawing  up  a  rocker.  "  I  know  it  can  only  be  some 
little  vexation.  Has  any  one  interfered  with  your 
plans  for  the  royal  ball?"  There  was  no  reply. 
"Have  the  children  made  any  more  trouble?  Dick 
is  very  unhappy  because  he  broke  your  Grecian 
vase." 

"It  was  not  Dick's  fault  more  than  mine.  My 
trouble  is  your  trouble,"  said  Mabel,  uncertainly. 

"You  dear,  good  girl;  I  should  have  known  you 
were  thinking  of  me.  Did  Thomas  tell  you  that 
he  wished  me  to  go  with  the  launch  party  to-morrow? 
Could  there  be  anything  more  unpleasant  for  me?" 

Mabel  had  been  on  the  point  of  confiding  in  her 
sister-in-law,  but  the  moment  had  passed.  "You 
are  not  going,  are  you?"  she  asked. 

"I  presume  I  shall  have  to  go;  and  I  wish  I  could 
take  the  boys  along.  Can't  you  intercede  for  them?" 

"I'll  send  a  special  invitation  to  them  to  go  as  my 
escort;  for  Richard  has  gone  to  Chicago  on  business 
and  will  not  be  at  home.  I  should  not  go,  sister,  if 
I  were  in  your  place,  unless  I  wanted  to,"  Mabel 
said  positively. 

"If  you  had  Thomas  for  a  husbnad,  I  think  you 
would,"  replied  Luella,  trying  to  smile. 

"I  don't  think  so.  You  began  wrong.  You  have 
given  up  to  him  all  your  life;  and,  of  course,  just 


102  GRANDMOTHER 

now,  you  are  not  strong  enough  to  resist  his  will," 
insisted  Mabel. 

"Did  you  ever  know  any  one  to  hold  out  against 
him  when  he  determines  on  a  thing?  I  never  have. 
Where  the  boys  get  their  lovely  disposition  is  a  mys- 
tery to  me."  Mrs.  Harding's  eyes  beamed  fondly 
as  she  watched  her  offsprings  bounding  over  the 
lawn,  returning  from  school. 

"They  are  like  their  Uncle  Richard.  He  has  the 
dearest  disposition.  This  will  be  a  lonely  night  with- 
out him."  Again  Mabel  choked  down  a  sob  and 
tears  overflowed. 

"I  must  hasten  home  or  the  boys  will  be  in  after 
me,"  and  Luella  rose  to  go. 

"Send  the  Doctor  over  when  he  comes  home,  and 
I  shall  ask  him  to  let  the  boys  go  with  me  to-mor- 
row," Mabel  suggested. 

"I'll  ask  him  to  come.  You  know  I  appreciate 
what  you  do  for  me,  dear." 

Left  alone,  Mabel  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  tear  after  tear  trickled  through  her  fingers.  The 
maid  came  and  announced  supper  and  was  told  to 
bring  some  toast  and  tea;  she  would  not  go  out  to 
the  dining-room  as  Mr.  Kendrick  was  absent.  When 
the  maid  reported  that  her  mistress  was  so  lonely 
that  she  was  crying  her  eyes  red,  the  cook  would  not 
believe  her.  When  the  cook  was  convinced  with 
her  own  eyes,  the  chore-boy  wanted  some  advice 
about  the  carriage  house;  so  he,  too,  could  see  the 
phenomenon.  Then  the  gardener,  hearing  the  re- 
port, gathered  a  bunch  of  roses,  which  he  carried  to 
his  mistress.  She  took  the  flowers,  and,  smiling, 
thanked  the  kind  old  man;  still,  her  eyes  were  full 
of  grief  and  anger. 

While  Dr.  Harding  was  finishing  his  evening  meal, 
his  wife  said  to  him:  "I  was  talking  with 
Mabel " 

"Did  she  tell  you  not  to  go  to-morrow?"  he  in- 


GRANDMOTHER  103 

terrupted.  "How  often  must  I  say  it  is  against  my 
wishes  that  you  discuss  with  her  our  family  affairs." 

"I've  said  that  I  would  go  and  have  no  thought 
of  changing  my  mind,  if  it  keeps  as  cool  as  it  is  to- 
night. Mabel  was  saying  that  she  doesn't  want  to 
go  alone.  Richard  is  in  Chicago  and — — " 

"If  Mabel  stays  at  home,  no  one  shall  go," 
abruptly  interposed  the  Doctor. 

"O,  Mabel  intends  going,  I  think.  Can't  you  go 
over  and  see  her  before  you  return  to  the  office?" 
She  knew  he  was  pleased  for  the  opportunity  to 
talk  with  Mabel,  and  she  was  grateful  for  every  oc- 
casion that  brought  him  under  her  influence;  it  made 
him  more  patient  with  the  boys  and  less  severe  with 
her.  Still,  she  was  unable  to  comprehend  his  atti- 
tude toward  her  brother's  wife.  He  seemed  pos- 
sessed of  a  composite  passion  as  strong  in  hate  as  in 
love.  Luella  loved  and  trusted  her  sister-in-law;  but 
all  affection  for  the  father  of  her  children  was  lost 
in  the  dread  emotion  of  fear. 

The  boys  overheard  the  project  of  the  launch  trip, 
and,  as  soon  as  their  father  was  out  of  sight,  they 
began:  "Mamma,  can't  we  go?  Please  get  us  to 
go." 

"If  Aunt  Mabel  asked  you  to  go  as  her  escorts, 
will  you  be  good  and  not  annoy  anybody?" 

"Yes,  Mamma,  we  will.  I  guess  we  will;  O 
won't  it  be  jolly!  We'll  keep  far  away  from  Papa," 
cried  Dick. 

"But  we're  going  with  Aunt  Mabel,  and  Papa — 
he'll  be  in  our  way,"  worried  Tommy. 

"Go  do  some  extra  practising  now,  so  you  will  be 
prepared  for  your  music  lesson  day  after  to-morrow. 
Don't  worry  over  the  picnic  until  you  are  sure  of 
going,"  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

Mabel  Kendrick  had  seen  the  Doctor  come  home, 
and,  while  he  was  at  dinner,  she  went  to  her  room, 
put  aside  her  wrapper,  bathed  her  face,  rearranged 


io4  GRANDMOTHER 

her  hair,  and,  in  a  becoming  afternoon  gown  of  gray 
silk  grenadine,  with  accessories  of  pale  pink,  she 
sought  the  library,  her  husband's  favorite  haunt. 
Here  Richard  spent  most  of  his  unbusied  hours,  read- 
ing and  studying  his  cherished  poets.  Here  his  wife 
came  when  he  was  absent;  for  she  could  feel  his 
presence  among  his  books.  The  atmosphere  was 
pregnant  with  his  personality.  She  was  aroused 
from  an  effort  to  pen  some  rhymes  by  the  entrance 
of  her  brother-in-law.  She  leaned  against  the  cush- 
ion of  a  large  chair,  waiting. 

Dr.  Harding  came  in  a  side  entrance,  through  the 
dining-room,  across  the  parlor,  hoping  he  would 
find  her  in  the  drawing-room.  He  did  not  like  the 
library;  but  the  other  rooms  were  in  consonance  with 
Mabel.  He  glanced  at  the  artistic  decorations,  at 
the  delicate  taste  in  bric-a-brac,  a  statue  here,  a  pic- 
ture there,  the  voluptuousness  of  the  rich  carpets. 
Her  handkerchief  lay  on  the  floor.  He  picked  it  up 
and  experienced  that  inevitable  dualism  that  pos- 
sessed his  nature  when  touched  by  the  electric  aura 
of  this  beautiful  woman.  He  could  not  have  told 
which  feeling  was  stronger;  admiration  or  envy  of 
the  casket;  love  or  hate  for  the  jewel  it  held.  His 
soul  was  on  fire;  but  years  of  effort  had  given  him 
the  mastery  of  himself.  He  retraced  his  steps  to 
the  library. 

"Writing  poetry?"  he  questioned. 

"Trying  to,"  she  smiled  up  at  him. 

"Let  me  see  what  you  were  thinking  of,"  and  he 
reached  for  the  paper  on  which  she  had  been  scrib- 
bling. 

She  crumpled  it  in  her  hand,  saying:  "No,  you'd 
think  it  very  silly;  but  it's  very  true  with  me." 

"Don't  destroy  it,  please,"  he  pleaded. 

"Come  sit  down,  I  want  to  talk  with  you.  Must 
you  hurry?"  and  she  drew  a  chair  forward  for  him. 

"Never  hurry  when  your  wishes  are  concerned," 


GRANDMOTHER  105 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  a  puzzled  expression 
slowly  crept  into  his  face. 

Mabel  dropped  her  lashes  and  a  flush  flashed  over 
her  countenance.  Forcing  a  bright  smile,  she  said: 
"I  have  two  favors  to  ask  of  you;  but  I  must  not 
spring  them  too  suddenly,  lest  I  be  disappointed. 
First,  let  us  talk  about  the  Knight's  ball." 

"Never  mind  the  ball.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 
impatiently  demanded  the  Doctor. 

"Perhaps  it  is  concerning  the  ball  that  I  am  most 
interested;  in  fact,  it  is,"  she  asserted  sweetly. 

"You  do  not  need  me,"  objected  the  Doctor,  "with 
Judge  Johnson,  Edgar  Mills,  your  committee  of  ten 
men  and  a  dozen  women.  Isn't  that  sufficient  force? 
Besides,  the  Mayor." 

"O  Richard  is  so  occupied  with  city  reform  I  can't 
bother  him,"  said  Mabel.  "But  Judge  Johnson  says 
the  arrangements  will  be  consummated  and  the  pro- 
gram sure  of  success." 

"Then  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do?  Take  the 
Mayor's  place  on  the  reception  committee?"  asked 
the  Doctor,  ironically. 

"Well,  no;  but  suppose  I  should  be  disabled  and 
could  not  preside  with  Richard,  or  occupy  my  posi- 
tion as  chairman  of  the  Woman's  Committee,  who 
could  take  my  place?"  she  asked. 

"The  only  alternative  that  I  would  advise  would 
be  to  telegraph  to  the  Right  Honorable  Knight  of 
the  North  Star  of  Sweden  to  remain  in  the  land  of 
the  midnight  sun,"  laughed  the  Doctor. 

"He  may  be  on  his  way  to  America  now.  And 
it's  no  laughing  matter  with  me.  I  have  never 
planned  anything  since  I  have  been  married  that  I 
look  forward  to  with  such  pure  pleasure.  I  almost 
feel  like  I  would  rather  die  than  give  it  up  for  any 
other  purpose,"  she  sighed  deeply. 

Dr.  Harding  had  detected  some  little  changes  in 
the  soft  beauty  of  her  fair  skin,  and  was  beginning 


106  GRANDMOTHER 

to  comprehend  her  vexation,  but  wished  to  force  her 
to  be  explicit  in  expressing  her  wish.  His  sensuous 
nature  enjoyed  a  conversation  bordering  on  so  deli- 
cate a  theme. 

"I'm  waiting,"  he  said. 

"Waiting!  For  what?"    She  had  forgotten. 

"For  your  two  requests,"  he  .replied. 

"O,  one  is,  I  want  Richard  and  Tommy  to  ac- 
company me  on  the  launch  ride  to-morrow;  for  I 
can't  go  without  them,  as  Richard  is  in  Chicago," 
she  stated. 

"I  had  intended  taking  them  with  me,  as  their 
mother  wants  to  stay  at  home;  but  you  can  have  the 
boys,  and  I  shall  look  after  Mrs.  Elliot,  since  the 
Reverend  can't  go.  Will  that  suit  you?"  he  asked. 

"Delighted !  Thank  you  very  much.  The  boys 
and  I  shall  have  a  gay  time,"  she  replied. 

These  trips  up  the  river  with  supper  on  the  beach 
had  been  among  the  most  delightful  times  of  the 
summer.  It  was  invigorating  to  get  away  from  the 
proper  conditions  and  staid  conventionalities  of  the 
city  and  breathe  the  country  air,  paddle  in  the  water, 
and  play  like  rustic  children.  This  was  the  middle 
of  the  excursion  season. 

The  Doctor  sat  nervously  tic-tacking  on  the  table. 
Mabel,  leaning  against  her  cushions,  watched  the 
window  curtains  fold  in  and  out  as  the  west  wind 
played  with  them.  She  was  thinking  seriously,  try- 
ing to  see  a  way  through  which  she  could  make  him 
understand  what  she  wanted  and  induce  him  to  ac- 
complish her  desire. 

Still,  he  waited,  and,  his  better  nature  dominant, 
he  was  content  simply  to  be  near  her.  In  sotto  voice 
he  asked  gently:  "Are  you  asleep,  Mabel?" 

She  turned  toward  him  with  a  ravishing  smile, 
and,  like  a  little  child,  said:  "I  don't  know  how  to 
tell  you  what  I  want  to," 


GRANDMOTHER  107 

"Would  it  help  you  were  I  to  tell  you  that  I  know 
what  the  trouble  is?"  With  a  compelling  smile  he 
leaned  toward  her  and  held  her  eyes;  her  cheeks 
crimsoned.  "But  I  do  not  know  what  you  wish  me 
to  do." 

"Tell  me  what  to  do  that  will  prevent  a  personal 
condition  that  would  keep  me  from  presiding  at  the 
Grand  Ball  during  the  holidays,"  she  pleaded. 

For  a  moment  he  felt  very  tender  toward  her. 
His  pulse  quickened,  his  nerves  tingled.  "Isn't  it 
too  soon  to  worry?"  he  whispered. 

"What  we  do,  must  be  done  at  once;  for  Richard 
must  never  know.  He  suspects  nothing,  yet."  Her 
eyes  were  humid  as  she  looked  appealingly  up  at  the 
Doctor,  who  had  risen  abruptly. 

Reference  to  Richard  was  unfortunate.  The  libid- 
inous pleasure  in  the  conversation  was  destroyed  by 
the  influence  of  his  name.  The  dualistic  nature  re- 
volved, leaving  hate  uppermost.  He  walked  rapidly 
across  the  room,  saying  to  himself:  "You  and  Rich- 
ard, you  two  to  preside  in  all  the  pomp  and  glory  of 
the  occasion  to  entertain  Bernadotte,  that  the  fame 
of  your  beauty  and  honor  may  be  sent  across  the 
ocean,  while  I  take  a  modest  seat  and  Luella  uncom- 
plainingly goes  through  what  you  are  trying  to  avoid. 
Am  I  to  be  a  dupe  and  a  fool  and  violate  my  medical 
integrity  and  shield  Richard  from  even  the  annoy- 
ance of  the  knowledge  of  your  scheme " 

"What  are  you  thinking?  Doctor,  your  counte- 
nance has  so  completely  changed.  Have  I  said  any- 
thing to  offend  you?  Indeed,  I  am  most  grateful  to 
you;  for  you  have  always  been  kind  to  Richard  and 
me."  She  took  his  hand  and  gently  pulled  him  to- 
ward the  chair  near  her. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Luella.  She,  too,  will  be  dis- 
appointed in  the  winter's  festivities."  He  tried  to 
look  kind. 


io8  GRANDMOTHER 

"No,  indeed!"  replied  Mabel,  relieved.  "Luella 
says  she  will  be  perfectly  happy  if  only  you  are 
pleased." 

"Pleased,  yes,  if  I  were  more  domestic  in  my 
taste.  Luella  cares  nothing  for  the  aesthetics  of  the 
fashionable  world.  Social  aggrandizement  doesn't 
appeal  to  her  as  it  does  to  you.  It  must  have  been 
the  opposite  characteristics  in  your  natures  that  made 
you  fast  friends  when  you  were  school  girls,"  mused 
the  doctor. 

"We  have  always  been  good  friends;  she  was  a 
better  student  than  I  was  in  college,"  acknowledged 
Mabel  Kendrick,  "and  has  more  brains  than  I  have 
now.  You  don't  half  appreciate  her." 

"She  is  intellectual,"  agreed  the  doctor,  "but  what 
pleasure  can  she  find  in  hiding  her  light  under  a 
bushel?" 

"Haven't  you  learned  yet,  brother,  that  there  is 
more  real  pleasure  in  the  enjoyment  of  one's  self,  in 
the  knowledge  of  one's  own  ability  to  grasp  and  to 
know  and  to  feel,  than  can  be  found  in  the  make- 
believe  of  the  world  around  you?"  asked  Mabel 
Kendrick. 

"That  is  an  unique  question  from  you,  sister, 
whose  life  is  floating  always  on  the  topmost  wave  of 
popularity,  and  who,  even  now,  plan  for  one  more 
grand  display  of  personal  charms?"  replied  Dr. 
Harding. 

An  expression  of  fear  and  apprehension  passed 
over  her  countenance  leaving  it  very  sad,  as  she 
replied:  "I  have  a  presentiment  that  this  may  be 
my  last.  So  help  me  to  make  it  the  greatest  of  all 
my  successes,  won't  you,  please?"  Her  eyes  were 
humid  as  she  looked  into  the  searching  gaze  of  the 
doctor. 

"Then  what  shall  be  my  pay?"  he  asked. 

"The  same  that  you  have  always  received  for  your 
excellent  care  of  our  health — the  love  and  gratitude 


GRANDMOTHER  109 

of  a  sister."  She  rose  and  moved  away  from  him. 
The  paper  on  which  she  had  been  scribbling  fell  to 
the  floor. 

The  doctor  picked  up  the  paper  and  looked  at 
Mabel  questioningly. 

She  endeavored  to  take  it  from  his  hand,  saying, 
"I  was  lonely  and  amused  myself  with  rhyming. 
Please  don't  read  it." 

"That  is  just  what  I  intend  doing,"  he  said,  hold- 
ing her  at  arm's  length  and  gazing  into  her  eyes. 

There  was  something  repugnant  in  his  expression 
and  she  drew  away  from  him,  saying,  "If  it  will 
amuse  you  to  read  my  simple  rhyme,  I  don't  care." 

"I'm  interested  to  know  what  occupies  your 
thoughts,  when  you  are  all  alone." 

She  stood  smiling  as  he  turned  to  the  window  and 
read: 

HOW  I  LOVE  MY  HUSBAND. 

I  love  him  with  my  speaking  eyes 
And  with  my  lips,  I  love  him — 

With  love  that  only  underlies 
My  love  to  heaven  above  him. 

I  love  him  in  the  rosy  dawn, 

And  as  the  daylight  brightens; 
I  love  him  more  when  day  is  gone, 

And  stars  the  night  would  lighten. 

I  love  him  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
When  evening  shades  grow  longer, 

And  stars  appear;  they  only  show 
How  much  my  love  is  stronger. 

When  sun  and  moon  and  stars  shall  wane, 

My  love  no  power  shall  sever, 
I  love  in  life,  in  death  the  same, 

Forever  and  forever. 


no  GRANDMOTHER 

He  read  to  the  end  bewildered;  he  had  hoped  for 
something  different;  and,  with  each  line,  he  formed 
a  deeper  resolve  to  be  revenged  on  this  couple,  who 
had  robbed  him  of  love  and  filled  his  soul  with  hate. 
He  saw  within  his  power  visions  too  dark  to  paint 
in  words.  The  Grand  Ball  should  be  his  opportun- 
ity, a  disappointment  for  her  with  no  ameliorating 
compensation. 

"Well,  didn't  I  say  that  you  would  think  it  fool- 
ish?" she  smilingly  asked. 

"It's  a  pretty  fair  bit  of  rhyming,"  he  politely  re- 
sponded. "You  should  make  a  new  copy,  then  paste 
it  in  his  Bible  or  dictionary." 

"You're  'very  kind.  Richard  shall  never  see  it, 
and  if  he  should  he  would  not  make  fun  of  it,  as 
you  are  doing,"  she  laughed. 

"You  misjudge  me,  Mabel.  Your  wifely  senti- 
ments are  very  neatly  expressed.  But  you  have 
something  more  difficult  to  accomplish  than  writing 
poetry,  and  I  am  not  yet  certain  as  to  how  I  should 
advise  you.  Get  out  in  the  open  air  as  much  as  you 
can.  Take  a  long  walk  occasionally,"  he  hesitated, 
she  waited.  "Vigorous  exercise" — he  came  close  to 
her,  and  for  the  first  time  during  their  intercourse, 
she  experienced  a  strong  sensation  of  loathing  and 
disgust;  but  she  replied,  calmly: 

"That  will  not  be  difficult,  for  I  like  to  walk.  Is 
there  nothing  else ?" 

"Be  patient  till  I  see  you  again."  He  turned 
toward  the  music  room  as  he  heard  the  scuffling  of 
his  sons,  who  had  come  in,  impatient  to  learn  the  re- 
sult of  the  picnic  scheme.  A  new  feeling  had  taken 
possession  of  Mabel,  and  she  wished  the  interview 
ended. 

"Confound  those  boys,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he 
abruptly  left  the  house. 

Mabel  cordially  welcomed  her  nephews. 


GRANDMOTHER  in 

"Can  we  go,  Aunt  Mabel,  can  we  go?"  they  chor- 
used. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  kissing  them  heartily. 

"We're  awfully  glad,  Aunt  Mabel,  and  we'll  do 
everything  you  want  us  to,"  said  Dick. 

"Then  let  me  lie  on  this  couch  and  rest,  and  you 
boys  play  for  me.  Don't  talk.  Play  your  duets  until 
you  are  tired,  and  then  slip  away,  for  I  may  be 
asleep,  and  we'll  have  a  jolly  good  time  to-morrow." 

"You're  right,  we  will."  They  sang  as  they  took 
their  seat  at  the  piano. 

A  merry  crowd  gathered  at  the  landing  the  next 
evening,  to  take  a  launch  ride  up  the  river.  They 
had  buckets  of  ice-water,  milk  and  cream,  coffee  and 
a  coffee-kettle,  and  baskets  of  provisions  in  abun- 
dance; fishing-tackle,  a  canvas  tent,  and  bathing  suits 
galore. 

Dr.  Harding  had  said  at  the  breakfast-table:  "I'll 
take  the  boys  and  leave  you  at  home,  Luella,  if  you 
don't  want  to  go." 

"Thank  you;  I  would  rather  remain  at  home," 
she  replied. 

Several  miles  above  the  city,  where  the  banks  are 
high  on  both  sides  of  the  river  and  the  hills  rise  like 
little  mountains  in  the  distance,  they  stopped  the 
machinery  of  the  launch  and  floated  quietly  on  the 
water,  to  enjoy  the  echo  and  see  who  could  get  the 
clearest  response. 

"Coo-coo,"  called  Mrs.  Kendrick.  "Coo-coo," 
came  back  from  the  bank;  and  again,  "Coo-coo" 
from  the  hill  beyond. 

"Who  are  you?"  called  Dick.  "Oo  are  you?" 
came  back  the  double  echo,  first  from  the  nearer  side 
of  the  river,  then  from  the  farther. 

"Are  you  well?"  called  Edgar  Mills.  "Are  you 
'ell?"  came  the  echo  as  clear  as  the  voice  that  gave 
the  first  call. 


ria  GRANDMOTHER 

"When  we  have  it  clearly  illustrated  that  the 
words  we  utter  go  from  us  until  they  meet  with  an 
obstruction  that  sends  them  back,  how  careful  ought 
we  to  be  with  our  words,  which  are  constantly  going 
to  heaven  with  no  hills  to  turn  them  back,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Elliot,  the  minister's  wife.  ,  „  TV  i  j 

"It's  all  right  if  we  use  good  words, 

cl  3.  red 

"I'm  glad  there  are  no  mountains  in  the  skies  to 
repeat  my  words,"  Edgar  Mills  added. 

''You  couldn't  flirt  with  two  pretty  girls  at  once 
then,"  intimated  Mrs.  Kendrick,  smiling. 

"There  are  mountains   of  clouds,'    Tommy  ob- 
served. .,      .  ,  T 
"Clouds  may  thunder,  but  not  echo,     said  Inez. 
In  an  hour  they  had  landed  on  the  beach,   and 
all  entered  heartily  into  putting  up  the  tent,  making 
a  bonfire,  preparing  to  bathe,  and  selecting  a  spot 
for  the  supper  to  be  spread.     After  the  duties  were 
performed,  each  did  precisely  as  he  pleased:  went 
swimming,   sat  on  the  shore  and  nchotted  stones, 
climbed  the  banks,  walked  to  the  top  of  a  promon- 
tory,   hunted    wish-stones,    read    a    magazine,    or 
stretched  himself  on  a  log  and  slept.     Mabel  Ken- 
drick  with  Dick  and  Tom,  did  everything  that  the 
others  did,  excepting  the   resting;  and,  when  they 
started  home,  she  was  so  tired  she  could  scarcely 
move      Her  cheeks  were  red  and  her  eyes  bright, 
and  she  knew  she  had  given  the  boys  the  j oiliest  day 
of  the  year,  and  hoped  she  had  accomplished  some- 
thing for  herself.  . 

Dr  Harding  gave  her  his  hand  to  assist  her  into 
the  boat  and  said  softly:  "You  have  almost  over- 
done yourself  in  exercising  to-day." 

"You  and  Dick  and  Tommy  are  the  youngest  in 
the  crowd,"  laughed  Mrs.  Elliot.  _  _ 

"  'The  moon  like  a  rick  on  fire  is  rising  over  the 
dale,'  "  Inez  Ellis  quoted. 


GRANDMOTHER  113 

"And  splash,  splash,  splash  in  the  waves  behind 
us,  sparkle  her  rays  in  our  trail,"  parodied  Edgar 
Mills. 

"Was  there  ever  anything  more  glorious  than 
moonlight  on  the  Ohio!"  gushed  Inez's  friend. 

"Yes;  moonlight  on  Mrs.  Kendrick's  face,"  teased 
Edgar. 

Edgar  Mills  was  a  young  man  of  eighteen,  an 
only  son  in  a  family  of  wealth  and  influence.  His 
three  sisters,  much  older  than  himself,  were  mar- 
ried; one  lived  in  the  East,  the  other  two  west  of 
the  Rockies.  He  had  been  reared  in  an  atmosphere 
of  kindness,  petted  though  not  spoiled.  He  was 
one  of  the  indispensables,  always  to  be  depended  on, 
ever  ready  to  take  a  hand  or  fill  a  set,  complete  a 
circle,  or  escort  a  friend,  and  one  that  could  be 
trusted.  He  sustained  intimate  relations  with  mar- 
ried women  without  annoyance  to  husbands;  he  was 
devoted  to  the  girls  without  encouraging  matrimonial 
hopes  among  their  mothers.  He  was  affectionate, 
generous,  handsome,  with  a  fair  quota  of  brains,  but 
never  taken  seriously,  though  considered  capable  and 
influential;  and  he  loved  his  mother  and — Inez  Ellis. 

A  few  days  after  the  picnic  Edgar  Mills  was  driv- 
ing his  pony  cart  in  from  the  country,  when  he  was 
surprised  by  the  appearance  of  a  pedestrian  on  the 
dusty  road.  He  stopped  his  pony  with  the  greeting: 
"Is  it  possible!  Mrs.  Kendrick!  Is  it  really  you 
walking  out  here?" 

"It  is  I,  Mr.  Ellis.  The  trees  and  the  skies  got 
into  my  veins  the  day  of  the  picnic,  and  I'm  wild  for 
the  country.  I'm  going  to  walk  to  Cedar  Grove  and 
sit  on  the  grass  and  rest,  and  walk  back  again,"  she 
replied. 

"I  don't  believe  you  can  endure  such  a  long  walk. 
Let  me  drive  you  out  there,  please?" 

"No,  thank  you.   Company  would  spoil  my  mood. 


ii4  GRANDMOTHER 

I  want  to  be  alone  with  nature  and  listen  to  the  birds 
and  the  bees,"  -she  insisted. 

"And  hunt  snakes  and  lizards.  Why  don't  you  go 
to  the  city  parks?  There  are  flowers  and  trees  and 
birds  and  no  harmful  animals,"  he  argued. 

"But  there  are  people  there,  and  I'd  be  sure  to 
see  some  one  with  whom  I'd  have  to  talk.  The 
walk,  principally,  and  to  be  alone,  is  what  I  wish 
to-day."  She  smiled  with  something  more  than 
seriousness  in  her  face. 

"Then  you  want  me  to  leave  you,  of  course. 
Good-bye.  Hadn't  I  better  come  back  in  two  hours 
and  meet  you?"  he  asked  uncertainly. 

"No,  thank  you,  good-bye,"  and  she  started  up 

the  road. 

"That's  a  mystery,"  said  Edgar  Mills  to  himself, 
as  he  let  his  pony  jog  along.  "By  the  time  she  gets 
back  she  will  have  walked  over  six  miles  this  warm 
morning.  Well,  I  can't  fathom  it !  and  that  dolor- 
ous expression  that  her  forced  smile  did  not  conceal 
— I  saw  it  once  on  the  beach." 

He  chucked  up  his  pony,  thinking  of  the  woman 
that  he  had  passed,  recalling  her  image  when  she 
stood  apart  from  the  crowd  after  the  lunch  on  the 
beach,  looking  into  space,  her  skirts  soiled  from 
climbing  the  bank,  her  delicate  fingers  bruised  from 
holding  to  rocks  and  limbs  in  the  ascent,  her  hair 
disarranged  by  the  wind,  her  cheeks  aflame  from  ex- 
ercise, and  her  eyes  moist  with  some  conflict  within. 
Now,  again,  she  was  acting  in  the  extreme.  Could 
it  be  that  some  grievous  vexation  had  come  to  mar 
her  beautiful,  peaceful  home,  and  she  was  trying  to 
run  away  from  it? 

Later  he  strolled  down  the  avenue  and  saluted 
Dr.  Harding  as  he  came  from  his  dwelling  to  get 
into  his  buggy. 

"Which  way,  Doctor?" 

"South.    Anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 


GRANDMOTHER  115 

"Are  you  going  as  far  as  Jones's,  the  man  who 
has  pneumonia?"  Edgar  inquired. 

"I  am,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"His  son-in-law  promised  to  do  some  work  for 
mother.  Would  you  spare  time  to  ask  if  he  can 
come  this  week?  I  started  to  see  him  and  forgot 
about  it,"  said  Edgar. 

"You're  not  usually  forgetful,"  replied  the  Doc- 
tor. "It  will  be  no  trouble  to  see  him  for  you,  if 
he's  there." 

"He  just  moved  there  last  week.  He  did  live  out 
east,  where  I  went  this  morning,  and  found  he  had 
moved.  By  the  way,  I  met  Mrs.  Kendrick  walking 
out  to  Cedar  Grove." 

"Walking  to  Cedar  Grove!"  ejaculated  the  Doc- 
tor, for  a  moment  surprised. 

Edgar  Mills  went  on  down  the  avenue,  concluding 
that  Dr.  Harding  knew  no  more  than  he  knew.  He 
would  have  formed  a  different  opinion  could  he  have 
heard  the  Doctor's  soliloquy  as  he  drove  away. 
"The  devil  and  damnation — she  will  beat  me  yet — 
and  she  has  taken  a  double  dose,  too.  Well,  if  she 
is  proof  against  that  performance,  I'm  safe.  Damn 
it!  I'll  not  let  her  walk  back." 

He  whipped  his  horse,  skirted  the  town,  and  strik- 
ing the  east  road,  took  up  the  speed  he  travelled  when 
some  worthy  patient  was  dying.  When  he  reached 
the  park,  there  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  his  anger 
rose  against  Edgar  Mills.  He  alighted  to  examine 
the  tracks.  His  horse,  trained  to  do  his  master's 
bidding,  did  not  require  hitching.  Inside  the  gate  the 
Doctor  saw  some  rose-petals,  and,  a  short  distance 
beyond,  he  seemed  to  distinguish,  through  the  under- 
brush, two  figures,  standing  and  apparently  talking. 
At  once,  he  was  possessed  with  a  wild,  inordinate 
jealousy;  and,  turning  down  a  lane,  he  came  to  a 
ravine  that  formed  a  creek  during  rainy  seasons. 
He  kept  along  under  the  bank,  intending  to  come  up 


ii6  GRANDMOTHER 

on  the  couple  unawares.     Should  they  be  the  people 

he   suspected,    well .      Otherwise,    he   could  be 

hunting  geological  specimens.  With  several  small 
stones  in  his  hands,  he  rose  suddenly  and  saw  Mabel, 
alone,  lying  on  the  grass.  His  pulse  was  throbbing, 
and  his  heart  bounding,  and,  even  through  green 
eyes,  he  noticed  how  perfectly  beautiful  she  was,  and 
how  extremely  sad.  The  moment  she  saw  him,  every 
impulse  left  her  but  that  of  anger.  She  sprang  to 
her  feet  and  faced  him,  trembling  with  passion. 
"Did  you  follow  me?"  she  demanded. 
"Who  was  here  talking  to  you?"  he  demanded 
in  turn. 

"What  right  have  you  to  know?"  she  sneered. 
"What  brought  you  here?" 

"My  horse."  He  realized  that  he  had  nothing 
to  gain  by  expostulations,  and,  in  a  more  conciliatory 
tone,  he  continued:  "Edgar  Mills  saw  me  starting 
to  the  country  and  told  me  you  were  here,  and  I 
have  come  to  ask  you  to  ride  back  with  me." 

"You  told  me  to  take  long  walks,  and,  knowing 
that,  you  should  not  have  interfered,"  she  spoke 
with  less  anger. 

"But  you  are  overdoing.  Do  you  want  to  kill 
yourself?"  he  asked  tenderly. 

"No,"  she  said  uncertainly.  "Though  I'd  rather 
die  than — than — not  be  able  to  preside  at  the  recep- 
tion." 

"That's  better.  Be  careful  of  your  sentences. 
Come,  let  us  go  home,"  he  urged. 

"Ride  with  you !  No,  indeed.  What  would  Ed- 
gar Mills  think  of  me,  refusing  to  ride  with  him 
and  then  meeting  you  out  here?  I  resent  your  com- 
ing. Ride  back  with  you,  no  sir!"  she  cried. 

"It  will  wear  a  better  face  to  have  met  your 
brother-in-law  than  some  stranger."  He  watched 
her  closely  and  with  such  evident  suspicion  that, 
despite  her  anger  toward  him,  she  laughed  merrily. 


GRANDMOTHER  117 

He  thought  her  mirth  was  forced  to  cover  her 
confusion.  However,  he  was  so  determined  that 
she  should  ride  home — and  not,  by  another  long 
walk,  hasten  a  catastrophe  that  would  disarrange 
his  plans — that  he  dropped  the  subject  of  the  un- 
known person  and  begged  her  to  ride  home  with 
him. 

"I  will  not,"  she  spoke  positively. 

"Very  well,  then,  come  with  me  to  the  buggy, 
please;  for  I  must  go."  He  drew  her  hand  through 
his  arm. 

Neither  spoke  while  they  walked  around  the 
shrubbery  and  out  near  the  horse.  She  let  go  of 
his  arm  and  turned  toward  the  road,  surprised  that 
she  had  really  convinced  him  that  she  would  go  as 
she  pleased.  Before  she  was  aware  of  his  design, 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  lifted  her  to  the  seat 
beside  him,  and  gave  the  rein  to  his  horse.  She 
was  so  angry  she  could  neither  speak  nor  see.  They 
covered  two  miles  in  a  very  few  minutes.  Then,  the 
ridiculousness  of  the  situation,  the  humor  of  the 
Doctor's  audacity,  took  possession  of  her,  and,  re- 
flecting on  her  own  helplessness  in  case  he  should 
not  continue  his  agency  until  the  consummation  of 
her  wishes,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  acceptance  of 
the  inevitable  with  a  charming  grace. 

"If  we  meet  Edgar  Mills,  I'll  tell  him  that  you 
kidnapped  me,"  she  said  with  her  natural  naivete 
of  manner.  "But  where  are  you  going?  Why  do 
you  turn  off  here?" 

"I  have  a  call  to  make  south  of  the  city,  and  it  is 
a  full  twelve  miles  across,  but  we  can  make  it  at 
this  speed,"  he  said. 

"Don't  kill  your  horse  driving  so  fast.  I'm  not 
going  to  jump  out,"  she  said  good-naturedly. 

Dr.  Harding  made  a  hurried  professional  call, 
delivered  Mrs.  Mills's  message,  and  they  reached 
home  in  time  for  the  noon  lunch,  and  congratulated 


n8  GRANDMOTHER 

themselves  that  they  did  not  meet  Edgar  Mills. 
All  to  no  purpose,  however;  for,  when  the  gardener 
came  to  do  the  work  for  Mrs.  Mills,  he  incidentally 
spoke  of  Mrs.  Kendrick  being  with  the  Doctor  when 
he  called,  and  Edgar  thought  to  himself:  "The  mys- 
tery deepens." 

At  a  social  function  a  few  days  after  Richard  Ken- 
drick's  return  from  Chicago,  he  met  Edgar  Mills, 
and,  among  other  comments,  he  said:  "I  hope  you 
did  not  neglect  Mrs.  Kendrick  while  I  was  away." 

Edgar  replied:  "She  would  not  let  me  be  good 
to  her.  When  she  walked  out  to  Cedar  Grove,  I 
asked  her  to  ride  with  me,  and  she  turned  me  down." 
He  watched  for  the  expression  of  surprise,  but  was 
disappointed. 

In  truth,  Richard  did  not  grasp  the  fact  until 
later.  Walking  home  with  his  wife  from  the  party, 
he  asked:  "Did  I  understand  Edgar  to  say  that  you 
walked  to  Cedar  Grove,  while  I  was  gone?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  uncertainly.  "We  had  the 
river  picnic  one  evening,  and  I  fell  so  in  love  with 
the  trees  and  the  flowers  that  I  wanted  to  see  the 
woods  all  alone,  so  I  walked  out.  Edgar  told  Dr. 
Harding  that  I  had  gone,  and  he  drove  out  and 
made  me  ride  back  with  him."  Notwithstanding 
her  desperate  effort  to  speak  naturally,  she  knew 
she  was  betraying  her  nervous  condition  of  mind. 
"I  was  very  angry  with  him  for  following  me;  I 
wanted  the  walk." 

"He  is  your  physician,  dear,  and  knows  what  is 
best  for  you.  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  take  your 
maid  when  you  go  walking?"  he  asked  gently. 

"I  would  not  like  to  require  her  to  walk  so  far," 
she  replied. 

"She  is  stronger  than  you  are,  and  can  endure 
much  more,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  suppose  I  shall  feel  in  a  mood  for  a 


GRANDMOTHER  119 

long  walk  again.  If  you  had  been  at  home,  doubtless 
I  would  not  have  thought  of  going,"  she  sighed. 

"We  shall  go  together,  whenever  you  feel  like 
walking.  My  business  and  pleasure  are  secondary  to 
your  happiness,"  said  her  husband,  gently  stroking 
the  gloved  hand  that  rested  on  his  arm. 

The  summer  days  grew  shorter.  Preparations 
for  the  winter's  festivities,  and  the  Bernadotte  Ball 
especially,  occupied  the  thoughts  of  the  pleasure- 
seekers.  Travellers  were  returning  from  the  lakes 
and  coasts  and  continental  tours.  Housewives  were 
busy  with  fall  fruitage;  homes  were  being  renovated 
and  house-cleaning  expedited.  The  city  was  aglow 
with  the  American  love  of  home. 

"Dr.  Harding,"  said  Mabel  Kendrick,  as  she 
entered  her  brother-in-law's  private  office  in  the 
city,  "are  you  alone?" 

"Yes;  take  this  seat,  Sister."  He  placed  a  chair 
for  her. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  over  to-day,  when  I  sent 
for  you?"  Mabel  began  at  once  on  the  subject  of 
her  call. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mabel,  I  have  exhausted 
my  resources,  and  can't  do  any  more  for  you,"  he 
stated  positively. 

"You  can  if  you  will,"  she  insisted. 

"Besides  I  will  do  nothing  more  without  Rich- 
ard's consent,"  he  argued. 

"And  you  know  perfectly  well  that  Richard  would 
never  give  his  consent."  She  hid  her  face  in  her 
arms  on  the  table  and  sobbed  convulsively. 

The  Doctor  watched  her  with  a  demoniacal  grin 
on  his  dark  countenance.  His  evil  nature  was  in 
control  to-day,  in  fiendish  enjoyment  of  his  fair  sister- 
in-law's  humiliation. 

"Tell  Richard  all  about  it,"  he  advised.  "Such 
distress  as  you  are  experiencing  would  win  his  heart 
to  the  sacrifice  of  any  principle." 


120  GRANDMOTHER 

"No;  I  will  not  tell  him.  He  looks  so  worried 
now.  He  feels  in  his  soul  that  something  is  wrong, 
and  he  is  so  patient  and  good.  No;  I  shall  never 
tell  him  anything.  If  I  could  get  over  this  and  be 
bright  and  happy  once  more,  he  would  forget  these 
four  months  of  gloom.  He  sees  through  my  artifi- 
cial smiles,  and  knows  I  am  hiding  something,  and 
it  makes  him  so  unhappy.  I  use  to  think  you  were  a 
fine  physician  and  could  do  better  than  any  one.  I 
don't  think  so  any  more,"  she  sobbed. 

"You  should  credit  me  with  trying,  at  least,"  he 
whispered. 

"Sometimes  I  feel  that  you  haven't  really  tried. 
I  know  you  can  be  kind,  and  I  believe,  too,  that  you 
can  be  mean  and  wicked,"  she  cried,  looking  up  at 
him  with  something  of  doubt  and  dread  in  her  coun- 
tenance. 

"How  about  your  pet  theory  of  happiness?"  he 
began.  "If  felicity  is  a  state  of  sanity,  wretchedness 
must  be  a  condition  of  insanity.  Do  you  think  it 
wise  to  apply  to  a  madman  to  change  the  laws  of 
nature?  Could  you  expect  that  a  demon  in  hell 
would  aid  a  mortal  to  the  bliss  of  heaven?  Can  a 
man  covet  an  adorable  being  and  enjoy  seeing  it 
possessed  by  the  object  of  his  hate?" 

Hot  anger  dried  her  tears.  Looking  at  her  broth- 
er-in-law with  dilating  pupils,  she  rose  and  hastily 
left  the  room.  As  the  outer  door  closed,  the  Doctor 
jeered: 

"Come  back,  Mabel,  and  I'll  give  you  some  more 
bread  pills,"  and  laughed  a  long,  low  gurgle  of  sa- 
tanic  mirth.  "Happy!  Yes;  happy  as  I  am!  Both 
of  them  happy!  All  of  us  in  the  seventh  heaven  of 
happiness!"  Again  he  indulged  in  a  joyless  laugh. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MATERNITY. 

An  essence  of  cleanliness  permeated  the  Kendrick 
home.  The  window-draperies  hung  in  faultless  pur- 
ity before  the  newly  polished  glass.  Microscopic  in- 
spection could  scarcely  find  a  bacterium  in  the  re- 
freshed rugs.  The  aired  and  dusted  books  belied 
the  poet's  insinuation,  "through  the  leaves  ye  magots 
make  your  windings,  but  for  the  owner's  sake,  oh, 
spare  the  binding."  The  fragrance  of  the  last  bloom- 
ing Marechal  Niel  rose  scented  the  atmosphere. 
The  lingering  kiss  of  the  setting  sun  suffused  the 
portraits  on  the  wall  with  a  golden  glow,  and  friends, 
pleading  for  speech,  looked  down  on  the  master 
of  the  house,  who  sat  by  his  study-table  absorbed 
in  perplexing  thought.  He  held  an  open  book,  in- 
different to  its  contents.  Within  a  few  feet  of  him, 
reclining  on  the  cushions  of  his  library  window,  was 
the  beautiful  woman,  the  better  half  of  his  own  be- 
ing, one  who  was  the  all-controlling  passion  of  his 
life;  and,  yet,  some  queer,  indefinable  skeleton  had 
been  intruding  between  them  for  the  past  season. 
To  an  uninterested  observer,  his  wife  appeared  un- 
changed; to  him,  she  was  intrinsically  different.  She 
sang,  played,  chatted  and  laughed  as  usual;  but  an 
almost  imperceptible  dissonance  accompanied  her 
voice.  Her  natural,  frank  sincerity  had  lost  its  art- 
lessness.  If  the  thing  were  more  tangible,  he  might 
form  some  conclusion.  Deeply  engrossed  in  medita- 
tion, he  was  startled  by  the  call: 

"Richard,  come  here,  please." 
121 


122  GRANDMOTHER 

His  heart  gave  a  bound,  his  fingers  tightened  over 
his  book,  though  he  did  not  move.  Some  element 
in  the  quality  of  the  voice  thrilled  him  with  a  plea- 
sure he  had  not  known  for  months;  it  was  the  old 
true  ring.  The  nightmare  had  fallen  from  their  lives 
and  his  beloved  was  herself  again. 

"Come,  Richard,"  Mabel  repeated. 

He  wavered  with  a  fear  that  he  might  break  the 
spell  and  again  find  reserve  and  uncertainty. 

"Richard,  are  you  asleep?  I've  just  had  the  most 
curious  experience." 

Dressed  in  a  soft,  cool  wrapper,  she  was  reclin- 
ing among  the  cushions  of  the  window-seat,  where 
she  enjoyed  an  afternoon  siesta,  though  it  was  only 
recently  that  she  had  forsaken  her  boudoir  to  en- 
sconce herself  behind  the  curtains  near  her  husband. 
He  parted  the  drapery  and  pulled  up  a  chair,  watch- 
ing the  peculiar  expression  that  played  over  her  face : 
the  brilliance  of  her  liquid  eyes,  the  hectic  flush  on 
her  cheeks,  and  the  extreme  pallor  around  her  smil- 
ing lips.  Her  luxuriant  hair  was  thrown  loosely  over 
the  pillow,  and  her  hands  clasped  lightly  across  her 
breast. 

"Are  you  ill,  dear?"  he  asked  gently. 

A  lump  in  her  throat  choked  her  voice,  and  she 
looked  at  her  husband  with  a  radiant,  tearful  smile. 

"Can't  I  do  something  for  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"There's  Dick  in  the  yard.  I'll  tell  him  to  send 
his  father  in,"  said  Richard,  solicitously. 

Disgust,  sorrow,  and  anger  mingled  in  the  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  as  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  and  said,  "No,  no." 

Perplexed  and  annoyed,  Richard  waited,  absently 
smoothing  the  hair  from  her  temple.  She  caught  his 
hand  and  kissed  it  impulsively,  then  pressed  it  to  her 
heart. 


GRANDMOTHER  123 

"Are  you  sick,  darling?  What  is  the  matter 
with  you?" 

"I'm  intensely  alive  and  well,"  said  Mabel,  blush- 
ing. "Can't  you  guess,  dear?" 

Her  mood,  her  expression,  thrilled  him  with  an 
emotion  that  responded  to  her  call.  "Dearest,  dare 
I  hope?"  he  replied  hesitatingly. 

"O  Richard,  don't  you  know?  You  must  know. 
Her  wide  open  eyes  held  him  appealingly. 

"Mabel,  darling,  can  it  be  true,  and  you  are 
happy?"  He  caught  her  in  his  arms  in  an  ecstasy  of 
delight.  His  joy  was  so  great  that  it  was  several 
minutes  before  he  discovered  that  she  was  weeping. 
"Dearest,  what,  crying!  I  thought  you  were  glad." 

"I  am  now;  but  I  have  been  so  wicked.  I  was 
rebellious  and  ugly.  Now,  I'm  so  awfully  sorry  that 
I  walked  and  walked — and  tried  to — tried  to — pre- 
vent the  full  fruition  of  the  consummation  of  our 
love,"  she  sobbed. 

"Never  mind,  dear.  You  could  not  help  the  way 
you  felt.  You  were  not  yourself,  and  kept  your 
trouble  from  the  only  one  who  could  have  comforted 
you.  But  it's  all  right  now — 'Just  you  and  me' 
again."  He  arranged  her  hair  over  his  shoulder  and 
held  her  as  a  child. 

"  'Just  you  and  me?'  "  she  questioned  through  her 
tears. 

He  kissed  her  affectionately;  and,  leaning  on  his 
shoulder,  she  told  him  of  all  her  joys  and  griefs, 
not  yet  able  to  understand  how,  under  the  Divine 
economy,  that  quickening  engenders  love.  He 
soothed,  counselled,  and  cheered  her,  until  she  was 
able  to  dress  for  dinner  and  appear  before  the  ser- 
vants as  beautiful  and  bright  as  ever. 

In  the  early  part  of  October,  Dr.  Harding  came 
from  his  room  with  a  grip  in  his  hand  and  said  to 


i24  GRANDMOTHER 

his  wife:  "I  shall  be  absent  all  day,  and,  perhaps, 
again  to-morrow.  I  should  have  gone  yesterday, 
but  waited  to  see  how  Dick's  throat  would  be  this 
morning.  If  you  don't  let  him  get  any  more  cold, 
he  can  start  to  school  Monday.  If  you  need  a  phy- 
sician while  I'm  gone,  send  for  Dr.  Raymond." 

"I  don't  think  we'll  need  him.  I  am  well,  and 
Dick's  better,  and  Mabel  is  so  good  to  us.  She's 
constantly  bringing  me  some  little  delicacy,  and  seems 
so  perfectly  happy  herself,"  said  Luella. 

"It's  all  sham.  She's  a  consummate  actor.  Do 
you  suppose  a  woman  who  loves  pomp  and  show  and 
is  vain  of  her  beauty  and  ability,  will  willingly  give 
up  the  honors  she  has  anticipated  this  winter?  No. 
You  don't  know  her  as  I  do."  His  steel-cut  ma- 
lignant voice  made  his  wife  cringe. 

"She  has  persuaded  Mrs.  Elliot  to  accept  her 
place  on  the  committee,"  averred  Luella. 

"Mrs.  Elliot!  She's  a  good  one,"  ironically 
sneered  the  Doctor. 

"Mrs.  Elliot  is  recognized  as  the  most  capable 
woman  the  church  has  known  since  the  time  that 
Mrs.  Falconer  lived  here,"  meekly  replied  Mrs. 
Harding. 

"Why  couldn't  Mabel  put  you  in  her  place?  To 
have  stood  with  your  brother,  would  have  been  most 
appropriate.  Or  won't  the  Mayor  preside  without 
his  wife?" 

"Richard  tried  to  get  off;  but  the  City  Council 
wouldn't  listen  to  it "  she  hesitated. 

"Well,  finish,"  urged  the  Doctor. 

"Mabel  did  come  to  me,"  added  Luella. 

"And  you  refused  to  fill  her  place?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  I'm  not  handsome  enough  for 
such  a  prominent  position,  and  probably  will  not  be 
strong;  besides,  Mabel  says,  'A  mother's  first  duty 
is  to  take  care  of  herself,  for  the  sake  of  her  chil- 
dren.' '  She  watched  her  husband  timidly.  His 


GRANDMOTHER  125 

dark  countenance  took  on  an  expression  of  incre- 
dulity, and,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  left  the  house. 

He  did  not  leave  the  city,  though  there  appeared 
on  his  office  door  a  placard  saying:  "Out  of  town." 
Instead,  he  was  in  his  private  office,  engaged  in  ex- 
periments that  had  been  interdicted  by  the  Society 
for  Cruelty  to  Animals.  Disappointed  in  love  and 
social  aggrandizement,  Dr.  Harding  had  become  in- 
fatuated with  the  power  and  perplexities  of  his  pro- 
fession. The  city  hospitals  had  been  invaded  and 
questionable  work  inhibited;  so  the  Doctor  retired 
to  his  own  secret  region,  where,  if  necessary,  a  post- 
mortem examination  could  be  satisfactorily  accom- 
plished, without  fear  of  discovery.  Here  he  pur- 
sued his  physiological  investigations  and  practised 
vivisection  on  rats,  cats,  birds,  and  monkeys,  and 
held  autopsies  over  higher  species. 

His  assistant  was  a  man  of  questionable  habits. 
By  profession,  he  was  sexton  of  the  Catholic  ceme- 
tery that  occupied  a  beautiful  site  just  outside  the 
city  limits,  at  the  base  of  a  hill  on  which  a  portion 
of  the  town  had  been  built,  which  was  destroyed 
during  the  Civil  War  by  conflagration.  His  father 
had  been  a  respected  grave-digger,  whose  wife  had 
Gypsy  blood  in  her  veins,  of  Spanish  and  Hungarian 
origin.  She  was  a  Catholic  and  still  a  pretty  woman 
when  she  was  left  a  widow  with  one  child,  this  son, 
who  continued  his  father's  work.  It  was  in  devotion 
to  his  mother  that  he  resorted  to  ways  of  which  she 
was  ignorant  to  secure  for  her  more  of  the  comforts 
of  life  and  a  few  of  the  luxuries.  Dressed  as  a  re- 
puted citizen,  he  frequented  the  aviary  and  pur- 
chased birds.  Animals  that  he  could  not  buy,  he 
purloined,  and  trapped  the  squirrels  in  forbidden 
parks.  Then,  disguised  as  a  beggar,  he  meandered 
through  the  dark,  uninhabited  alleys,  apparently 
picking  up  rags,  old  tin,  and  waste  iron,  and,  with 
the  large  basket  he  carried,  suddenly  disappearing 


126  GRANDMOTHER 

through  on  obscure  door  in  the  back  of  Dr.  Hard- 
ing's  building. 

The  young  sexton  realized  too  late  that  he  was 
putting  himself  more  and  more  in  the  power  of  a 
hard  taskmaster;  but  he  did  not  regret  it  while  his 
mother  enjoyed  the  perquisites  of  his  sacrifice,  though 
he  lived  in  dread  of  discovery;  for  the  unscrupulous 
Doctor  sought  him  in  his  home  if  he  failed  to  appear 
at  his  office  at  the  hour  designated. 

The  winter  advanced.  Mrs.  Kendrick  and  Mrs. 
Harding  declined  invitations  to  dinners  and  parties, 
but  frequented  the  opera  and  club  lectures.  They 
sought  the  art  galleries  and  visited  the  greenhouses 
and  studied  the  esthetic  in  every  opportunity.  Mabel, 
always  an  enthusiast,  had  become  a  hearty  convert 
to  the  doctrine  of  prenatal  influence,  and  believed 
the  coming  generation  would  be  beautiful  and  good 
if  the  present  generation  so  willed  it.  For  several 
months  the  sisters-in-law  were  almost  inseparable, 
and,  with  each  new  day,  Mabel  grew  more  charm- 
ingly happy. 

When  Dick  and  Tommy  came  home  from  school 
one  evening  and  found  they  had  a  little  sister,  they 
were  wild  with  delight.  In  fact,  the  two  families  be- 
came so  wholly  occupied  with  their  domestic  felicity 
that  they  lost  their  interest  in  the  events  of  the  city, 
which  had  been  so  all  absorbing  during  the  summer. 
The  boys  were  generally  late  to  school;  for  they 
would  hang  around  the  baby,  some  times  keeping 
still  for  fully  a  minute  to  watch  her  open  her  big, 
black  eyes.  They  declared  she  knew  "tother  from 
which"  before  she  was  seven  weeks  old.  They  were 
very  earnest  in  expressing  their  gratitude  to  the 
nurse;  for  they  credited  her  with  the  gift  of  their  sis- 
ter. 

Miss  Lewis,  the  new  nurse,  was  a  girl  not  more 
than  sixteen  years  old,  with  a  timid,  tractable  dispo- 
sition. She  had  recently  received  her  certificate  of 


GRANDMOTHER  127 

competency  from  the  hospital  and  was  anxious  to 
make  a  success  in  the  calling  she  had  chosen.  So 
far  her  experience  had  been  so  limited  that  she 
trusted  every  one,  and  implicit  obedience  to  the  in- 
structions of  the  physician  had  formed  a  part  of 
her  education. 

The  advent  of  his  daughter  might  have  had  a 
stronger  influence  in  softening  the  nature  of  Dr. 
Harding  had  she  come  at  any  other  time.  Chagrin 
and  disappointment,  in  his  vengeful  desire  to  see 
Richard  Kendrick's  wife  humiliated  and  miserable, 
seemed  keener  because  he  had  not  done  anything 
materially  wrong  himself.  He  had  not  been  greatly 
surprised  at  the  turn  things  had  taken;  for  experi- 
ence had  shown  him  that  maternal  love  often  saved 
a  soul  from  a  watery  grave,  and,  unquestionably, 
nature's  laws  would  work  more  powerfully  in  sur- 
roundings of  peace  and  purity;  but,  in  this  instance, 
he  had  reckoned  on  an  exception.  He  had  been  con- 
fident that  love  of  eclat  and  admiration  would  over- 
balance other  considerations.  Now,  he  interpreted 
his  false  calculations  as  a  personal  grievance.  So 
it  is  that  the  wicked  heart  becomes  more  evil  with 
its  own  imaginings,  until  the  most  heinous  evil  be- 
comes a  pleasure.  In  a  desire  to  contribute  to  the 
happiness  of  others,  by  reflex  influence  the  heart  is 
made  purer  and  holier;  so,  too,  in  the  wish  to  ac- 
complish harm  and  injury,  there  is  turned  back  on 
the  soul  a  putrefying  agency  that  corrodes  and  de- 
stroys the  good  emotions,  converting  them  into  sa- 
tanic  impulses.  Dr.  Harding  had  nothing  clear  in 
his  mind  as  to  what  he  intended  doing.  There  was 
a  dark  providence  in  which  he  trusted,  and  he  re- 
solved, by  all  the  devils  in  hell,  that  he  would  not 
be  tantalized  by  seeing  the  proud  Mayor's  child  a 
pleasure  to  the  haughty  beauty  who  had  laughed  in 
his  face  in  joyous  satisfaction,  at  an  evil  that  had 
been  overruled  for  good. 


128  GRANDMOTHER 

The  first  heavy  snow  of  winter  had  buried  all  the 
dank  leaves  and  dead  flowers.  The  blackened  earth 
was  brilliant  in  her  dress  of  white.  The  merry 
sleigh-bells  were  ringing,  and  the  gay  people  of  the 
prosperous  city  were  gathering  in  the  gorgeously 
lighted  building  erected  for  the  great  Bernadotte 
Ball.  The  renowned  foreigner,  in  a  private  car,  had 
reached  the  city,  had  been  met  by  a  special  com- 
mittee, and  conducted  to  a  suite  of  rooms  in  the 
Grand  Hotel,  where  he  and  his  retinue  could  rest 
an  hour  and  prepare  for  the  function  given  in  their 
honor. 

Richard  Kendrick  had  been  assured  by  the  doctor 
that  accouchement  was  not  expected  for  a  week,  and, 
as  a  matter  of  extreme  precaution,  he  had  insisted 
on  having  Miss  Lewis  recalled  from  the  hospital, 
where  she  had  gone,  after  staying  six  weeks  with 
Mrs.  Harding.     As  Mayor  of  the  City,  it  was  of 
paramount  importance  that  he  should  preside  at  the 
reception  of  their  distinguished  visitor.    Assisted  by 
Judge  Johnson,  the  Rev.   Mr.  Elliot,  Mrs.  Elliot 
and  others,  they  extended  the  American  welcome  to 
the  Right  Honorable  Knight  of  the  North  Star  of 
Sweden,  Bernadotte,  and  his  staff,  and,  for  hours, 
introduced  the  brilliant  throng.     The  strain  was  so 
intense  that  Richard  Kendrick  lost  the  power  to  re- 
member correctly  the  familiar  names  with  which  he 
associated  daily.      There  were   moments  when  his 
heart  seemed  ready  to  burst;  a  mighty  drawing  was 
urging  him  to  sacrifice  every  temporal  interest  and 
speed  away  to  his  home  and  his  wife.     Again  and 
again,   he  tried   to   reassure  himself   by  confidence 
in  his  brother-in-law  and  his  own  loyalty  to  duty. 
In  the  great  banquet  hall,  where  others  were  feast- 
ing,  the   viands   stuck  in  his   parched   throat.      At 
last,  about  five  o'clock,  when  the  dance  was  again 
in  full  swing,  and  Bernadotte,  from  some  indisposi- 
tion, begged  to  retire,  Judge  Johnson  and  Richard 


GRANDMOTHER  129 

Kendrick,  leaving  others  in  charge,  slipped  away 
from  the  crowd. 

They  drove  rapidly  into  the  city,  and  sped  up  the 
avenue.  Seeing  lights  in  the  bed-chamber,  the  Judge 
asked  timidly:  "May  I  stop  with  you  and  learn  if 
all  is  well?" 

"Certainly,  Judge;  come  in.  I  have  been  in  an 
agony  of  suspense  all  evening.  But  Dr.  Harding 
assured  me  that  there  was  no  need  of  worrying." 

He  hurried  into  the  house,  turned  on  the  gas  in 
the  parlor  and  rushed  upstairs.  The  Doctor  met 
him  in  the  upper  hall. 

"How  is  Mabel?"  he  cried. 

The  Judge  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Doctor's  face 
from  where  he  stood  in  the  parlor  door,  and,  from 
its  strange  pallor,  concluded  that  Mrs.  Kendrick  was 
dead.  Unbidden,  he  mounted  the  stairs,  three  steps 
at  a  jump,  and  was  reassured  when  he  heard  the 
reply:  "Mabel  is  doing  well." 

"And  the  child?"  Richard  gasped.  A  nervous 
presentiment  choked  his  utterance. 

"Born  at  1 1  :io.  Mabel  was  very  much  exhausted 
and  fell  asleep  soon  afterward,"  stated  the  Doctor. 
His  peculiar  intonation  sent  a  chill  through  his  lis- 
teners. 

They  slipped  softly  into  a  little  room  joining  Ma- 
bel's suite,  which  had  been  furnished  for  the  nurse. 

"How  is  this?"  asked  the  nervous  husband,  star- 
ing at  an  old  woman,  who  sat  beside  a  bed  on  which 
a  little  bundle  wrapped  in  lace  and  flannel  lay. 
"You're  not  Miss  Lewis.  Where  is  the  nurse  I  left 
here?" 

The  new  nurse,  a  hard  old  woman,  with  envy  writ- 
ten in  every  line  of  her  wrinkled  face,  mumbled: 
"The  Lewis  girl  went  to  sleep  and  rolled  over  on 
the  babe  and  smothered  it.  She  was  sent  about 
her  business,  and  ought  to  be  dismissed  from  the 
hospital." 


1 3o  GRANDMOTHER 

"Smothered  the  child!  My  God!"  gasped  Rich- 
ard. 

"Quiet,  boy,  be  quiet.  Remember  your  poor 
wife,"  said  Judge  Johnson 

"A  boy,"  croaked  the  old  nurse.    'She  don  t  know 

it  yet." 

The  father  stood  by  the  bed,  staring  at  the  bundle 
of  lovely  clothes  and  the  wee  head  that  was  to  have 
been  the  crowning  joy  of  their  wedded  life,  a  father  s 
pride  and  ambition,  a  mother's  comfort  and  joy. 
Great  sobs  welled  up  in  his  breast,  which  he  sup- 
pressed for  her  sake.  The  deepest,  keenest,  most 
excruciating  pain  was  in  the  knowledge  of  her  terri- 
ble sorrow.  Would  she  be  able  to  bear  it!  He 
turned  to  go  into  her  room  when  the  Doctor  said: 

"Do  not  disturb  her.  Let  her  sleep  till  daylight, 
and  she  will  be  stronger.  Keep  it  from  her  as  long 
as  possible." 

"He's  dead,"  fretted  the  old  nurse.  You  don  t 
need  to  examine  it." 

Judge  Johnson  was  lifting  the  little  head  tenderly 
and  turning  the  face  to  the  light,  so  he  could  see  it 

distinctly.  . 

Dr.  Harding  grew  nervous,  and  spoke  in  a  hard, 
dry  tone :  "I  had  not  intended  calling  attention,  es- 
pecially, to  the  child.  However,  you  may  as  well 
know  Perhaps  you  will  be  more  readily  reconciled 
to  your  loss,  Richard.  I  fear  the  boy  would  never 
have  been  quite  right  and  would  have  been  a  greater 
grief  to  you  grown  up  than  to  have  lost  him  in 

infancy."  ,  . 

Richard  did  not  reply,  but  sought  a  seat  near  his 
wife's  bed,  and  hid  his  face  on  her  soft,  white  hand. 
The  Judge  went  to  his  hotel.  Dr.  Harding,  too, 
went  home,  woke  his  wife,  acquainted  her  with  the 
circumstances,  and  advised  her  to  go  over  and  re- 
main with  Mabel  until  she  could  make  known  her 
disappointment.  Luella  hurried  to  her  brothers 


GRANDMOTHER  131 

side.  The  agony  of  his  strong  face  pierced  her 
heart.  She  put  her  arms  around  him  and  held  his 
head  against  her  breast,  and  he  wept  like  a  child. 
Mabel  was  in  a  deep  sleep  and  did  not  awaken  until 
the  sun  was  high  on  this  cold  winter  morning. 

Smiling,  refreshed,  and  bright,  she  said:  Rich- 
ard, dear,  is  our  little  darling  all  right?  How  he 
did  yell  last  night.  The  Doctor  said  I  was  too  weak 
to  see  him.  I  must  have  been  asleep.  Bring  him  to 
me  now.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  two  ?  Is  any- 
thing wrong?  Can't  I  see  the  baby?" 

The  old  nurse  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Mabel.  "Where's  Miss 
Lewis?" 

"She  had  to  leave,  and  Thomas  got  a  nurse  who  is 
stronger  and  more  experienced,  dear,"  said  Luella. 

"I'm  sorry  he  made  the  change.  He  said  last 
night  that  Miss  Lewis  was  sick  and  made  her  take 
a  powder.  Richard,  what  are  you  staring  out  of 
the  window  for?  Come  here  and  ask  the  nurse  to 
bring  the  child.  Is  he  asleep?"  she  pleaded. 

"He's  asleep,  dear,"  said  Luella.  "Here's  the 
maid  with  your  breakfast.  Let  me  hold  the  tray. 
You  may  go,"  to  the  maid.  "Your  sleep  has  re- 
freshed you,  and,  when  you  have  eaten,  you  will 
be  stronger." 

"I'm  not  very  hungry,  and  I  don't  think  I  needed 
anything  to  make  me  sleep;  but  the  Doctor  thought 
I  did.  Come,  Richard,  butter  my  toast  for  me, 
please.  Have  you  had  your  breakfast?  No!  Of 
course,  you  ate  at  the  banquet.  Was  it  a  grand  af- 
fair? Was  Mrs.  Elliot  a  success?  Did  they  miss 
me?  Why  don't  you  tell  me  all  about  everything?  I 
can't  eat  and  talk  too.  There,  now;  send  the  tray 
away  and  bring  me  my  baby,  please." 

She  looked  so  eagerly  happy  that  Richard  rushed 
out  of  the  room,  and  then  she  knew  that  sorrow  of 
some  kind  was  in  store  for  her.  She  could  not  de- 


132  GRANDMOTHER 

fine  the  nature  of  it;  but,  as  in  all  great  crises  in  life, 
when  an  intuition  of  evil  awakens  the  latent  strength, 
she  prepared  herself  for  the  inevitable. 

When  her  husband  and  sister  returned  to  her 
room,  she  asked:  "What  has  happened?  Luella, 
tell  me,  please." 

"The  child  lived  only  an  hour,  dear,"  said  Luella, 
softly. 

"Dead,  dead!  Do  you  mean  that  that  strong 
new  voice  is  hushed  so  soon?  I  can  not  believe  it," 
she  cried.  "Bring  me  my  boy!" 

"Darling,  she  is  telling  you  the  truth,"  sobbed 
Richard,  not  able  to  control  himself  even  for  his 
wife's  sake. 

"Thomas  said  it  would  be  better  for  you  not  to 
see  him,"  pleaded  Luella. 

"He  said  so  last  night.  I'm  sorry  I  listened  to 
him  then."  She  looked  at  Luella  with  glassy  eyes; 
then,  to  her  husband,  she  spoke  softly:  "Don't  cry, 
dearest;  I  am  only  grieved  for  you  and  your  dis- 
appointment. For  me,  it  is  but  just.  God  has  pun- 
ished me  for  my  sin,  though  I  have  been  so  deeply 
sorry.  Bring  the  boy.  I  must  see  him." 

Richard  brought  the  child  and  laid  him  in  her 
arms.  She  did  not  look  at  him  closely,  nor  did  she 
shed  a  tear.  She  pressed  her  lips  to  the  little  fore- 
head, then  said  to  Luella : 

"Sister,  you  are  a  dear,  good  woman,  and  I  love 
you  and  your  children,  which  makes  it  very  painful 
for  me  to  ask  you  to  carry  this  message  to  Dr.  Hard- 
ing. Tell  him  that  I  request  him  never  to  come  near 
nor  to  speak  to  me  again." 

"Don't,  dear,"  interceded  her  husband.  "The 
Doctor  was  not  to  blame.  I'm  sure  he  feels  deeply 
distressed;  I  never  saw  him  more  concerned  or  ex- 
ercised." 

"Will  you,  Luella?"  asked  Mabel. 

"Certainly,  dear.    With  trouble  so  great  as  yours, 


GRANDMOTHER  133 

we  can  not  hold  you  responsible  for  what  you  do 
now,"  said  Luella,  sadly. 

"I  thank  you,  Sister.  And,  Richard,  if  you  think 
I  need  a  physician's  care,  call  Dr.  Thomson,  please, 
mamma's  old  doctor,"  she  asked. 

The  Masonic  cemetery  was  a  little  beyond  the 
Catholic  grounds,  and  here  a  carriage,  containing 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Elliot  and  his  wife,  Richard  Kendrick 
and  his  sister,  with  a  little  white  casket  on  their  laps, 
quietly  entered,  and  the  highest  hopes  and  truest 
ambitions  of  a  noble  father  were  buried  with  the 
body  of  a  child. 

Mabel  Kendrick  lingered  convalescent  for  nearly 
three  months.  After  the  weather  grew  warmer  and 
she  was  permitted  to  go  out  driving,  she  still  re- 
mained in  a  state  of  apathy,  taking  no  interest  in 
anything.  The  Harding  boys  were  very  unhappy 
over  their  Aunt  Mabel's  estrangement,  and  often 
begged  to  carry  their  little  sister  over  to  see  her; 
but  they  were  restrained  from  day  to  day  by  the  in- 
junction that  she  was  not  well  yet,  nor  the  baby  large 
enough  to  go  visiting. 

Eleanor  Harding  was  a  black-eyed  beauty,  quick, 
smart,  and  mischievous.  She  began  to  rule  the 
household  when  she  was  a  year  old.  The  boys 
petted  and  teased  her  in  turn.  They  said  she  always 
could  talk,  and  she  walked  at  fourteen  months.  Fin- 
ally, the  boys  became  so  enthusiastic  over  her,  they 
disobeyed,  and  slipped  over  to  tell  Aunt  Mabel  the 
wonderful  words  Eleanor  could  say  and  the  cute 
tricks  she  could  do.  After  reporting  that  they  were 
cordially  received,  they  were  allowed  to  go  over  oc- 
casionally. However,  Mabel  manifested  little  in- 
terest in  her  niece,  until,  one  day,  as  she  reclined 
on  a  couch  in  the  music-room,  she  looked  across  the 
lawn  and  saw  that  Eleanor  had  taken  her  father's 
purse  from  his  hand  and  had  thrown  it  away;  and 
he  was  trying  to  make  her  bring  it  back  to  him. 


I34  GRANDMOTHER 

"She's  a  little  vixen,  isn't  she?"  said  Richard,  fol- 
lowing his  wife's  gaze  and  rejoicing  to  see  a  smile 
on  her  face. 

"He  will  never  break  her  will,"  assented  Mabel. 

They  watched  the  contest  from  behind  the  win- 
dow-curtains. The  Doctor  seemed  to  coax,  com- 
mand, and  to  threaten.  He  carried  her  to  the  purse, 
held  her  hand  on  it,  and  stepped  back,  and  held  out 
his  own  to  receive  it.  Eleanor  looked  up  at  him  a 
moment,  then,  laughing  defiantly,  ran  from  him. 
She  cried  terrifically  when  he  caught  her.  He  of- 
fered her  his  watch,  and  she  struck  it  away.  At 
last,  he  lost  his  temper  completely  and  raised  his 
hand  to  strike  the  child. 

Somebody  else  was  watching,  too;  and,  with 
feigned  innocence,  Luella  caught  up  the  babe,  say- 
ing: "Come,  girlie,  time  for  your  lunch,"  and  dis- 
appeared as  quickly  as  she  had  come  on  the  scene. 

When  Eleanor  was  three  years  old,  she  decided 
she  must  go  into  Aunt  Mabel's  whenever  she  heard 
the  piano.  She  would  go  shyly  in,  climb  in  a  chair, 
smooth  down  her  dress  and  demurely  cross  her 
hands,  and  sit  and  listen  as  long  as  her  aunt  con- 
tinued to  play.  Then,  she  would  walk  out  without 
a  word.  When  her  brothers  questioned  her  about 
where  she  had  been,  she  made  a  mouth  at  them.  If 
th£y  followed  her,  she  did  not  stay,  but  went  home 
and  waited  until  they  came  out;  then,  she  would  go 
back  and  climb  in  her  chair,  fix  her  dress,  fold  her 
hands,  and  listen. 

Her  father  was  very  proud  of  her  beauty  and 
excused  her  wilfulness  by  saying:  "She  is  just  like 
her  daddy." 

He  had  her  picture  taken  often,  and  the  one  he 
most  admired  was  made  when  she  was  five  years 
old.  She  was  in  one  of  her  stubborn  moods  and 
could  not  be  coaxed,  hired,  or  whipped  into  posing 
as  her  parents  wished.  At  last,  the  photographer 


GRANDMOTHER  135 

suggested  to  let  her  take  her  own  attitude.  She 
climbed  into  the  seat,  one  foot  hanging  down  in 
front,  the  other  thrown  over  a  high  arm  of  the 
chair,  her  right  hand  holding  the  knob  on  the  top; 
and,  with  her  head  thrown  back,  curls  afloat,  eyes 
dancing  and  lips  laughing,  she  made  a  picture  that 
would  be  a  delight  to  any  artist. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FORGIVENESS. 

"Richard,  there  comes  Mrs.  Elliot  and  Mrs.  Jen- 
nings, which  means  an  hour  of  excruciating  annoy- 
ance to  me,"  nervously  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kendrick. 

"It  grieves  me  beyond  measure,  Mabel,  darling," 
replied  her  husband,  "that  you  can  not  throw  off 
this  lethargy  and  enjoy  life  as  you  used  to.  Those 
ladies  are  coming  to  call  in  pure  kindness." 

"O  dear,  I  know  they  are,  and  they  are  both  ex- 
cellent women.  But  where  can  there  be  found  any- 
thing more  trying  to  the  patience  of  one  who  has 
brains  above  the  level  of  her  serving-maid  than  a 
woman  like  Mrs.  Jennings?"  fretted  Mabel. 

"She    is    a    good   woman,    whose    husband    is  a 
worthy  elder  in  our  church,"   asseverated  Mayor 
Kendrick. 

"I  know  she  is;  but  you  have  never  been  forced 
to  listen  to  her  talk.  She  will  consume  a  full  hour, 
tediously  recounting  all  her  domestic  incidentals.  It 
is  not  the  only  subject  under  consideration — the 
seamstress,  the  house-maid,  the  kitchen,  and  personal 
ailments — but  each  item  of  every  theme  is  length- 
ened into  infinity.  It  is  a  mystery  how  one  can  use 
so  many  words  about  so  little.  Come  to  a  period? 
She  doesn't  know  how.  If  she  should  stop,  it's  like 
the  striking  of  a  clock,  with  no  change  of  inflection. 
You  can't  change  the  subject;  for  she  is  so  highly 
entertained  with  her  own  ability  to  keep  talking  that 
she  won't  see  that  you  are  bored,"  continued  Mabel. 

136 


GRANDMOTHER  137 

"Can't  you  let  Mrs.  Elliot  do  the  talking?"  asked 
Richard. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Elliot  can  manage  Mrs.  Jennings 
better  than  I  can;  for  she  will  begin  talking  at  the 
same  time;  and  I'm  sure  that  is  less  discourteous 
than  to  monopolize  with  uninteresting  gossip.  But 
Mrs.  Elliot  has  a  hobby.  Though  six  years  have 
passed  since  the  Bernadotte  Ball,  she  has  to  make 
some  reference  to  the  part  she  played  in  every  con- 
versation of  any  length,"  sighed  Mabel.  "I  seem 
doomed  never  to  be  allowed  to  forget  that  time." 

"Don't  you  make  a  mistake  in  trying  to  forget  it?" 
asked  Richard,  kindly.  "Wouldn't  it  be  more  unsel- 
fish in  you  to  help  others  to  recall  the  grandeur  and 
pleasure  of  it?  In  an  effort  to  make  others  happy, 
you  would  forget  your  own  unhappiness.  You  know 
that  I  am  just  as  proud  of  you,  and  as  ambitious 
for  you,  as  I  was  before  that  time.  Isn't  your  love 
for  me  strong  enough  to  bring  back  your  natural 
gaiety  and  make  our  home  a  place  of  enjoyment?" 
He  held  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  and 
left  her  to  greet  the  callers  in  the  drawing-room. 

The  visit  proved  less  trying  than  Mabel  had  an- 
ticipated. Mrs.  Elliot  was  planning  for  a  special 
Easter  service  and  had  called  to  urge  Mabel  to  come 
and  once  more  fill  her  place  in  the  choir.  They  laid 
all  their  plans  before  her  and  discussed  the  program 
minutely.  A  new  pipe-organ  was  to  be  used  this 
Easter  day,  and  many  requests  had  been  sent  to 
have  Mrs.  Kendrick  sing.  If  she  felt  that  she  could 
not  sing,  then,  would  she  not  write  a  poem  for  them? 
When  the  women  left,  she  had  half-heartedly  prom- 
ised to  try  to  help  a  little. 

Walking  down  the  avenue,  Mrs.  Jennings  com- 
mented: "I  just  couldn't  help  but  feel  sorry  for 
Mrs.  Kendrick,  she  was  so  absent-minded  and  des- 
pondent. Why,  when  I  told  her  how  bad  my  niece 
felt,  when  her  chambermaid  let  that  groceryman's 


i38  GRANDMOTHER 

little  boy  run  in  front  of  the  baby-cab,  and  bounce 
the  child  out  into  the  gutter,  and  get  his  lace  skirt 
so  black  from  the  coal  soot  that  it  took  her  wash- 
woman's sister  three  trials  at  it  before  it  ever  looked 
white  again,  I  don't  think  she  heard  a  word  that  I 
said." 

"She  is  a  changed  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Elliot. 
"She  has  never  recovered  from  the  shock  caused  by 
the  death  of  her  baby.  Instead  of  taking  a  pride 
and  pleasure  in  the  Mayor's  prominence  and  success, 
she  is  grieved  because  he  has  no  son  to  share  his 
honors.  Then,  I'm  sure  it  was  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to  her  to  miss  the  Bernadotte  Ball.  You  will 
notice  that  I  never  refer  to  it  in  her  presence.  You 
remember  I  filled  her  place  on  the  committee." 

"That's  true.  I  believe  you  didn't  speak  of  it 
to-day,"  naively  assented  Mrs.  Jennings.  "I  never 
will  forget  the  amount  of  provision  that  those  serv- 
ants carried  off  after  that  banquet.  One  girl  had 
her  cousin  and  two  chums  there,  and  they  had  each 
a  basket  or  two,  and  into  them  they  put  turkey,  ham, 
chicken,  celery,  pie,  cranberries,  pickles,  rolls,  scores 
of  rolls,  and  cake — you  couldn't  count  the  different 
kinds  of  cake  that  they  picked  up — and  cookies  and 
doughnuts.  I  know  as  many  as  a  dozen  crullers  and 
salad,  all  kinds  of  salad;  they  couldn't  eat  it  in  a 
week — and  tongue.  Yes;  I  saw  a  girl  put  a  whole 
tongue  in  one  basket;  they  could  have  run  a  board- 
ing house  for  a  month.  And  then,  sugar  and  even 
bottles  of  cream.  Well,  there  really  was  no  use  in 
letting  it  go  to  waste;  and  tarts  and  candies;  they 
just  filled  up  all  the  cracks  with  nuts  and  confections : 
but  I  don't  think  any  silver  was  lost  or  china  broken. 
Of  course,  they  had  been  told  to  carry  away  the  pro- 
vision after  the  banquet  was  over.  My  niece,  who 
was  sick  at  the  time,  had  charged  me  to  take  particu- 
lar note  of  the  elegant  dresses,  so  that  I  could  de- 
scribe them  to  her;  but  my!  that  was  a  thing  im- 


GRANDMOTHER  139 

possible;  for,  really,  sometimes,  when  I  looked  over 
that  ball-room,  it  seemed  the  absence  of  dresses,  ex- 
cept the  great  yards  of  goods  that  laid  on  the  floor 
and  kept  the  dust  off  the  men's  shoes.  But  it  was  a 
grand  occasion;  the  city  will  not  have  anything  so 
fine  very  soon  again.  Now,  if  Mrs.  Kendrick  had 
been  there,  you  would  have  missed  a  great  honor.  I 
remember  that  I  was  surprised  when  I  heard  that 
she  had  resigned  in  your  favor.  I  was  at  the  dress- 
maker's and  I  said  to  her  that  I  knew  you  would 
do  the  part  well,  but  no  one  could  be  so  handsome  as 
Mrs.  Kendrick.  Yes;  those  girls  actually  took  a  jar 
of  ice-cream  away  with  them,  and  a  whole  lot  of 
lemonade.  Now,  you  know  lemonade " 

They  had  reached  the  corner  where  their  paths 
separated,  and  Mrs.  Elliot  cut  her  friend  short  by 
a  "Good-bye;  you'll  be  at  the  church  to  help  to-mor- 
row." 

Mabel  Kendrick  went  up  to  her  lonely  room,  the 
beautiful  boudoir,  which  had  been  a  place  of  pure 
delight  to  her  for  eight  years,  until  one  night  of  ca- 
lamity had  changed  the  face  of  all  the  world.  The 
room  had  now  become  a  seclusion  for  grief.  Here, 
in  her  heart,  she  would  recall  her  sin  and  her  pun- 
ishment; and,  here,  she  hoped  penitence  had  secured 
divine  forgiveness.  She  felt  that  her  life  was  a  re- 
proach to  her  husband;  and  she  was  haunted  by  the 
verse:  "Her  children  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed, 
her  husband  also  and  he  praiseth  her."  This  hap- 
pened to  be  her  birthday  verse  in  the  thirty-first  chap- 
ter of  Proverbs.  It  was  now  a  mockery  to  her.  The 
nephews,  almost  young  men,  bright,  promising  boys, 
were  ever  a  source  of  pain  to  her,  because  her  hus- 
band had  no  son  to  follow  in  his  worthy  footsteps. 
The  things  she  had  once  taken  exquisite  delight  in, 
were  now  void  of  interest.  The  picture  of  Hoff- 
man's "Christ"  no  longer  appealed  to  her;  the  coun- 
tenance had  changed  from  a  benevolent  expression 


HO  GRANDMOTHER 

to  that  of  disapprobation.  The  music  of  Wagner's 
''Lohengrin"  was  as  discordant  as  the  Japanese  kota 
and  samisen,  tuned  a  fifth  apart  and  playing  the  same 
air.  Where  once  she  enjoyed  the  bloom  and  beauty 
of  the  rose,  she  saw  only  blemished  petals  and  dis- 
figured leaves.  She  no  longer  sat  on  the  porch  in 
a  dreamy  mood,  listening  to  the  song  of  the  birds, 
but  fretted  over  the  noise  of  the  tree-frogs  and  the 
chattering  of  katydids.  The  admiring  look  and  com- 
plimentary speech  of  friends,  which  were  wont  to 
bring  the  blush  to  her  cheek  and  the  sparkle  to  her 
eye,  had  become  a  source  of  extreme  disgust  to  her. 
She  banished  lighter  literature  and  forced  herself  to 
read  the  political  and  city  news,  that  she  might  be 
able  to  converse  intelligently  with  her  husband,  along 
lines  that  were  of  interest  to  him.  She  desired,  if 
it  were  possible,  to  make  herself  in  some  measure 
a  compensation  to  him. 

"Did  you  agree  to  help  in  the  Easter  service?" 
Richard  asked  his  wife  in  the  evening. 

"I  kind  o'  promised  to  write  an  Easter  poem," 
said  Mabel. 

"Mr.  Elliot  was  talking  to  me  about  it  as  I  came 
home.  They  are  all  hoping  that  you  will  sing,"  said 
Richard. 

"You  know,  dear,  that  I  feel  very  deeply  about 
some  things.  And  one  is,  a  person  who  cherishes 
an  unforgiving  spirit  in  her  heart  has  no  right  to  take 
an  important  part  in  a  sacred  service,"  averred 
Mabel. 

"To  what  do  you  refer,  dear?"  asked  Richard, 
uncertainly. 

"For  six  years,  Richard,  I  have  not  spoken  to  you 
of  Dr.  Harding,  because  he  is  your  sister's  husband. 
You  must  pardon  me  this  once  for  saying  that  I  be- 
lieve he  is  responsible  for  the  death  of  my  babe,  and 
I  cannot  forgive  him,"  she  spoke  slowly  and  sadly, 


GRANDMOTHER  141 

"though  his  cruel  design  may  have  had  its  incipiency 
in  my  own  evil  desire." 

"I  suspected  where  you  placed  the  responsibility 
of  our  loss,  and  I  have  been  waiting  a  long  time  for 
you  to  open  your  heart  to  me.  Come  here,  little 
girl,  and  let  us  reason  together."  He  'took  her  in 
his  arms.  "You  know  that  you  are  dearer  to  me 
than  all  the  world,  don't  you?"  She  assented  and 
he  continued:  "Don't  you  know  that  there  would 
be  no  joy  in  heaven  for  me  if  I  got  there  and  you 
did  not?" 

Mabel  smiled  sadly,  not  comprehending  the  pur- 
port of  his  words. 

"Our  little  boy  has  been  admitted,"  he  continued. 
"We  are  sure  the  Gate  of  Pearl  opened  and  let  the 
little  fellow  in.  But  we  can't  pass  so  easily,  not  un- 
less our  sins  are  forgiven;  can  we?" 

"I  know  St.  Peter  will  welcome  you,  and,  surely, 
I  have  been  punished  sufficiently  to  be  permitted  to 
follow  you,"  she  pleaded. 

"Our  sorrows  and  afflictions  here  are  not  pass- 
ports to  heaven.  They  purify  us,  'as  by  fire,'  and 
refine  us  into  more  beautiful  characters,"  insisted 
Richard.  "But  faith  in  the  atonement  and  obedience 
to  the  Father  are  necessary  for  you  and  me  to  secure 
a  room  in  the  everlasting  mansion,  where  our  little 
one  is  waiting  for  us." 

"Well,  then,  isn't  it  all  right  for  us?" 

'  'If  ye  forgive  not  men  their  trespasses  neither 
will  your  heavenly  Father  forgive  you.'  Don't  you 
see,  dear,  that,  while  you  are  trying  to  make  me 
happy  through  our  few  short  years  on  earth,  you 
are  harboring  a  little  thing  in  your  heart  that  may 
make  me  sad  throughout  eternity?"  said  Richard, 
tenderly. 

"And  do  you  really  think,  Richard,  that  I  cannot 
be  admitted  into  heaven  without  forgiving  Dr.  Hard- 
ing ?'* 


142  GRANDMOTHER 

"Can  we  enter  heaven  unforgiven?  Are  we  not 
plainly  told  that  'as  we  forgive  we  shall  be  forgiven?' 
The  merits  or  demerits  of  the  person  forgiven  are 
not  to  be  considered." 

"Those  are  hard  conditions,"  said  Mabel. 

"Not  at  all.  'Vengeance  is  mine.  /  will  recom- 
pense, saith  the  Lord.'  He  claims  the  right  to  pun- 
ish; and  'it  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  Lord.'  Furthermore,  it  is  a  great  blessing  to 
be  able  to  forgive.  You  would  be  happier,  my  dear, 
if  you  could  put  this  ugly  feeling  out  of  your  heart; 
then,  you  would  soon  be  your  old  self  again." 

"But  I  do  not  wish  to  be  as  I  once  was,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"Not  for  my  sake?  This  is  a  grand  old  world; 
marvellous  in  its  power,  wonderful  in  its  grandeur, 
gorgeous  in  its  beauty;  and  all  that  I  need  for  a  full 
enjoyment  of  it  is  you  by  my  side,  brilliant,  beauti- 
ful, and — good."  He  pressed  her  to  his  breast. 

"You  hesitate  over  the  good?" 

"Near-good  now,  wholly  good  when  Thomas  is 
forgiven.  It  is  not  for  him  that  I  care,  only  for 
you,  dear.  I  often  feel  that  he  is  a  bad  man;  but  I 
must  not  judge." 

"He  is  going  to  have  trials  and  tribulations 
in  bringing  up  his  little  girl,  I  am  sure,"  laughed 
Mabel.  "Do  you  know  the  little  mischief  got  angry 
with  her  father  last  night  and  ran  away,  and  they 
hunted  for  her  all  night?  They  questioned  my 
girls;  but  they  had  not  seen  her.  Luella  called  the 
police  force  out  and  was  nearly  frantic." 

"Yes;  I  learned  about  it  at  the  city  hall.  Hadn't 
they  found  her  when  I  came  home?"  asked  Rich- 
ard. 

"No;  because  she  was  over  here  all  the  time.  She 
slipped  in  through  the  cellar  window,  where  that 
broken  bar  is  above  the  coal-pit,  came  round  and 
got  up-stairs  without  being  seen,  and  went  to  bed  in 


GRANDMOTHER  143 

the  guest-chamber.  I  wish  you  had  seen  the  coal 
dust  on  the  sheets.  I  didn't  know  she  was  here  until 
after  breakfast.  You  had  just  gone,  when  she  came 
down  and  coolly  asked  me  to  fasten  her  clothes. 
She  ate  her  breakfast  very  deliberately,  and  said: 
'Papa  said  I  shouldn't  have  any  breakfast,  and  I  will 
not  live  with  him.  I'm  going  to  live  with  my  Aunt 
Mabel.'  And  I  said:  'But,  Eleanor,  you  don't  want 
to  leave  Mamma?'  She  studied  over  the  matter  and 
replied:  'I  like  Dick  and  Tom;  but  whatever  made 
Mamma  raise  such  a  husband?'  The  maid  slipped 
over  after  Luella,  and  she  came  in  while  the  child 
was  eating."  Mabel  laughed  cheerfully,  adding: 
"She'll  give  her  father  a  few  heartaches." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  you,  dear;  but  remem- 
ber that  old  verse  of  Scripture:  'Rejoice  not  when 
thine  enemy  falleth  and  let  not  thine  heart  be  glad 
when  he  stumbleth:  Lest  the  Lord  see  it,  and  it  dis- 
please Him,  and  He  turn  away  His  wrath  from 
him,'  "  quoted  Richard. 

"Now  I  see  why  you  wouldn't  let  me  rejoice  last 
year,  when  your  opponent  was  discovered  buying  up 
votes,"  laughed  Mabel. 

"Yes;  I  was  really  afraid  that  my  pleasure  in  his 
downfall  would  lose  me  the  victory.  Well,  I  must 
go  to  the  office.  This  talk  has  done  us  both  good. 
I  see  it  in  your  face  and  feel  it  in  the  aura  that 
surrounds  you.  I  shall  expecj:  to  read  your  Easter 
poem  when  I  come  home." 

It  was  several  days  later  that  Mabel  gave  her 
verses  to  her  husband  to  read  and  criticise. 

EASTER  MORN. 

On  Judah's  hills,  a  dark'ning  pall 

Was  settling  fast  with  thick'ning  gloom. 

The  Lion  of  the  tribe  was  dead, 
The  Man  of  Nazareth  in  his  tomb. 


144  GRANDMOTHER 

His  chosen  foll'wers  murmur  and  complain 

"We  thought  'twas  He  who  Israel  should  reclaim." 

Deep  malice  was  triumphant  now, 

And  hope  seemed  dead  and  heaven  afar; 
For  gloomy  darkness  still  prevailed 

Where  once  the  light  of  Bethlehem's  Star, 
Light'ning  the  weary  pilgrim  on  his  way, 
Beamed  with  the  promise  of  eternal  day. 

Dispersed  abroad,  the  chosen  few 

Whisper'd  of  doubt  and  hope  and  fear — 
Waited,  wondering  what  to  do. 

The  seal'd  and  guarded  tomb,  so  drear, 
Held  the  slain  body  of  their  loving  Lord. 
What  joy  could  that  last  Sabbath  day  afford? 

One  woman, — who  could  not  forget, 

Nor  let  love's  labor  end  in  death, 
Whose  earnest  heart  was  glowing  yet; 
And  would  be  with  its  final  breath, — 
Came  with  the  dawn  in  haste  to  find  His  tomb, 
And  with  sweet  spices  mitigate  its  gloom. 

What  joy!  the  stone  is  rolled  away; 

An  angel  form  now  guards  the  pris'n. 
Behold  the  dark  place  where  he  lay — 

"He  is  not  here !     Your  Lord  is  ris'n. 
Go  tell  his  sad  disciples  what  you^see, 
He  goes  before  you  into  Galilee." 

Now,  o'er  the  earth,  this  message  tell 

On  Eastern  morn.     Salvation's  story! 
The  Lord  has  conquered  death  and  hell, 
And  reigns  for  aye  in  realms  of  glory. 
His  cruel  death  and  resurrection  prove 
The  power  of  His  all-saving,  precious  love. 


GRANDMOTHER  145 

Now  to  the  risen  Lord,  we  bring 

The  trophies  of  our  loving  praise. 
With  trembling  joy,  we  read  His  word; 

In  prayer  and  song  our  voices  raise. 
In  faith  and  penitence  and  love,  we  sing — 
These  are  the  Easter  offerings  that  we  bring. 

We  bring  to  Thee  our  grief  and  joy, 
And  all  our  waywardness  and  sin: 
And  while  Thy  praise  our  tongues  employ, 

Pray  Thee,  to  make  us  pure  within. 
Those  who  have  wrong' d  us,  freely  we  forgive, 
That  in  Thy  love  we  may  forever  live. 

O  may  this  Easter  morn  of  joy 

Its  lesson  in  our  hearts  impress. 
The  resurrection  theme  employ 

Our  future  life  and  heavenly  dress. 
May  we  Thy  gracious  peace,  O  Saviour,  prize, 
And  meet  Thee,  when  thou  cometh  in  the  skies. 

When  Richard  ,Kendrick  sat  down  in  his  library 
chair,  his  wife  ensconced  herself  on  the  window-seat 
to  watch  him  read  her  verses.  He  perused  the  sad 
story  of  the  tomb,  and  the  bright  verses  of  the  glori- 
ous resurrection;  and  his  heart  was  filled  with  joy 
in  the  lines  that  pledged  a  new  consecration  to  duty, 
a  forgiveness  of  all  wrongs,  and  a  hope  of  eternal 
blessedness. 

When  he  folded  the  paper,  she  smilingly  said:  "It 
is  all  right  now." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied;  "and  we  shall  have 
a  truer  and  a  sweeter  life  than  we  have  ever  had 
before.  And  poor,  dear  Luella,  she  will  have  a  lit- 
tle more  joy  than  she  has  had  for  some  time." 

"  'Talk  of  an  angel  and  her  wings  will  flutter,'  ' 
laughed  Mabel,  seeing  her  sister-in-law  in  the  yard. 


i46  GRANDMOTHER 

"Come  in,  Luella,"  called  Richard.  "I  have  not 
seen  you  for  a  week." 

"Because  you  have  not  been  over,"  said  Luella, 
coming  up  to  the  veranda  and  looking  through  the 
open  window.  "Thomas  objects  to  my  being  here," 
and  she  looked  anxiously  down  the  avenue. 

"Suppose  we  tread  on  his  objections,  and  visit  as 
we  please,  allowing  him  the  same  privilege;  what  do 
you  say,  Sister?"  asked  Richard. 

There  was  a  new  quality  in  her  brother's  voice, 
and  Luella  divined  some  pleasant  change  in  their 
relationship.  She  looked  at  Mabel  questioning}^ 

"Richard  wants  me  to  go  with  him  to  dine  with 
the  Elliots  to-night."  She  winked  at  her  husband. 

"But — the  Elliots  are  to  be  with  me,  to-night. 
You  don't  mean "  began  Luella. 

"Well,"  grunted  Richard. 

"Will  you  come  to  my  house?"  she  asked  in  deep 
concern. 

"Shall  we  go,  Mabel?"  tenderly  questioned  Kicn- 

ard. 

"Just  as  you  say,  Richard,  and  Luella  doesn't  ob- 
ject," Mabel  replied. 

"It  would  be  a  very  great  pleasure  to  the  children 
and  to  me  to  have  you  come.  I  don't  know  how 
Thomas  will  feel,"  said  Luella,  sincerely. 

"If  it  would  make  conditions  more  unpleasant  for 
you,  Sister,  we  shall  not  come.  But  we  are  willing  to 
experiment,  if  you  are.  Mabel  made  the  first  breach ; 
it  is  but  just  for  her  to  try  to  heal  it." 

"I  want  you  to  come,"  Luella  said  deliberately. 
"We  are  to  spend  our  lives  in  the  same  yard,  and 
amicable  relations  are  to  be  desired  if  it  is  possible 
to  attain  them.  We'll  try." 

Later,  when  the  projected  visit  was  made  knowa 
to  Dr.  Harding,  he  stormed  and  left  the  house  with- 
out eating  his  lunch.  A  man  can  deceive  almost  any 


GRANDMOTHER  147 

one  easier  than  he  can  dupe  his  wife,  and  Luella 
covertly  smiled  at  her  husband's  affectation  of  an- 
ger. However,  she  was  surprised  and  relieved,  when 
a  messenger  brought  word  in  the  afternoon  that  the 
Doctor  had  received  a  call  to  the  country  and  re- 
quested Mr.  Elliot  to  excuse  his  absence. 

It  was  a  delightful  dinner-hour.  The  children  were 
frantic  with  joy;  and  Mrs.  Elliot  was  enthusiasti- 
cally in  love  with  every  one;  for  Mabel  was  encour- 
aging her  to  talk  about  the  Bernadotte  Ball.  Par- 
tially aware  of  the  coolness  that  had  existed  between 
the  families,  the  minister  was  gratified  to  find  him- 
self in  an  atmosphere  of  hearty  congeniality,  and 
listened  with  pride  to  his  wife  as  she  described  the 
gown  she  had  worn  and  repeated  the  comments  that 
were  made  by  the  Right  Honorable  Knight  of  the 
North  Star  of  Sweden,  dwelling  merrily  on  the  man- 
ners of  the  foreigners  and  giving  minutia  of  court 
dress.  The  Mayor's  heart  thrilled  with  pleasure 
at  this  evidence  of  his  wife's  complete  revivification. 

One  afternoon  in  the  early  fall,  Mabel  Kendrick 
was  walking  up  the  avenue  when  she  heard  her  niece 
screaming  and  begging  for  protection. 

"O,  Aunt  Mabel,  save  me  !  Save  me !  Papa  says 
he'll  kill  me." 

Dr.  Harding,  with  a  switch  in  his  hand,  was  fol- 
lowing closely.  Mabel  hastened  her  steps,  caught 
the  child  in  her  arms,  and  entered  her  own  gate. 

"Put  that  girl  down!"  commanded  the  father, 
speaking  to  his  sister-in-law  for  the  first  time  since 
his  enforced  silence. 

Mabel  did  not  pause,  but  whispered  to  the  child, 
"What  have  you  done,  Eleanor,  to  make  your  father 
so  angry?" 

"He  told  me  not  to  go  into  his  desk,  and  I  did. 
I  found  a  picture  of  papa  and  you,  and  cut  papa's 


i48  GRANDMOTHER 

face  oft",  'cause  I  just  wanted  you.  He  caught  me 
and  shook  me  hard,  and  I  turned  the  ink  over  all 
his  papers." 

When  the  angry  man  saw  that  his  sister-in-law 
was  taking  his  child  home  with  her,  he  sprang  for- 
ward, saying:  "How  dare  you?  Let  go  that  girl!" 

Eleanor  clung  to  her,  crying:  "Don't  give  me 
up.  Please  don't,  Aunt  Mabel.  He'll  kill  me."  She 
hid  her  face  on  her  aunt's  shoulder,  trembling  vio- 
lently. 

"You  are  too  angry  to  punish  her  now,  Dr.  Hard- 
ing, and  she  is  so  frightened  she  would  not  be  bene- 
fited," Mabel  spoke  calmly. 

As  the  Doctor  took  hold  of  the  child,  she  squalled 
so  loud  he  could  not  hear  his  own  voice.  When 
he  let  go  of  her,  she  sobbed,  and  tightened  her  arms 
around  her  aunt's  neck. 

"Come,  sit  down,  Doctor,  and  let  us  reason  to- 
gether, until  you  are  both  more  calm,"  Mabel  sug- 
gested. 

He  ignored  her  invitation,  angry  that  she  was  en- 
joying the  situation — great,  strong  man  powerless 
beside  a  pretty,  wilful  child.  Every  time  he  opened 
his  lips  or  moved  toward  her,  her  crying  began,  and 
ceased  only  when  Mrs.  Kendrick  spoke.  She  was 
curious  to  hear  what  her  aunt  would  do,  determined 
to  hear  nothing  from  her  father.  The  critical  scene 
was  closed  by  an  unexpected  interruption. 

Dick  came  running  with  the  news :  "Papa !  Edgar 
Mill's  horse  ran  away,  threw  him  out  and  knocked 
his  head  against  a  lamp-post.  They  want  you  quick. 
He's  unconscious." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"They  carried  him  up  to  Judge  Johnson's  room. 
It  was  right  in  front  of  the  hotel.  They  don't  want 
his  mother  to  know  till  you  come  and  see  if  he's 
alive,"  stated  the  boy,  excitedly. 

Eleanor  _  listened    interestedly  ;_but,.    when    Dr. 


GRANDMOTHER  149 

Harding  turned  for  a  parting  look  of  disapproba- 
tion, she  grabbed  Mabel  around  the  shoulders,  and 
set  up  her  powerful  screams  till  her  father  had  dis- 
appeared. Then,  she  threw  back  her  curls  and 
looked  into  her  aunt's  face  with  a  triumphant  smile. 

"What  must  we  do  with  you,  Eleanor?"  asked 
Mabel,  assuming  an  expression  of  grave  seriousness. 

"I  don't  know,"  naively  replied  the  child. 

Mrs.  Harding  had  been  watching  from  her  par- 
lor window,  and,  when  her  husband  left,  she  came 
in  and  persuaded  Eleanor  to  come  home. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  that  mamma  will  punish  you 
for  being  naughty?"  asked  Mabel. 

The  child  smiled  a  mischievous  response,  and, 
throwing  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck,  kissed 
her  rapturously. 

"I  can  always  persuade  her  to  do  as  I  wish,"  said 
Mrs.  Harding,  tearfully. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ELEANOR. 

During  the  next  ten  years,  Eleanor  Harding  grew 
more  beautiful,  more  attractive,  more  intelligent, 
and  more  wilful.  Her  father  learned  that  the  wisest 
way  to  deal  with  her  was  to  avoid  collisions.  When 
she  made  trouble  in  the  school,  he  required  the 
teacher  to  solve  the  problem,  with  the  understanding 
that  no  humiliation  was  to  accompany  Eleanor's  pun- 
ishment. She  was  regnant  in  the  primary  rooms; 
the  children  followed  and  obeyed  as  much  from  love 
as  fear;  and,  as  she  advanced  into  the  higher  grades, 
her  influence  increased.  A  boy  who  incurred  her 
displeasure  was  so  completely  ostracized  that  he  left 
the  school.  She  was  loved  and  feared  by  the  boys, 
admired  and  hated  by  the  girls.  She  dominated  all, 
in  an  easy,  quiet,  masterful  fashion,  and  seldom  in- 
dulged in  violent  freaks  of  anger;  such  tactics  had 
been  necessary  only  in  her  contests  with  her  father. 
With  the  withering  scorn  of  her  wonderful  eyes, 
she  could  overthrow  an  adversary,  or  silence  a  grum- 
bler by  a  look  of  supreme  contempt,  and  again 
awaken  the  merriest  mirth  in  the  play  of  her  eye- 
brows. She  had  no  regard  for  things  religious,  and 
amused  her  friends  by  caricaturing  the  ministers  or 
mimicking  the  deacons.  The  resignation  of  a  teacher 
was  sure  to  follow  her  dislike;  for  she  was  able  to 
make  the  most  cultured  appear  as  a  burlesque  by  her 
art  in  apish  reproductions. 

When  she  was   sixteen,   she  was   seen  with  her 
father  on  most   occasions   of  social   interest;   and, 

150 


GRANDMOTHER  151 

where  she  appeared,  there  gathered  the  set  that 
boasted  of  brains  and  culture;  the  dolts  and  dullards 
avoided  her  vicinity.  Often,  the  conceit  was  taken 
out  of  a  coxcomb  whose  assurance  brought  him  to 
experience  the  sharp  edge  of  her  wit.  Her  father 
indulged  in  the  gratifying  reflection  that  his  daugh- 
ter would  soon  eclipse  the  social  preeminence  of 
which  his  sister-in-law  had  once  boasted.  He  was 
satisfied,  also,  with  her  attitude  toward  a  host  of 
beaux.  She  seemed  to  care  for  none. 

Edgar  Mills  remained  an  invalid  for  a  long  time 
as  a  result  of  the  injury  he  had  received  from  the 
runaway;  and,  in  his  attendance  on  him,  the  Doctor 
often  took  his  little  girl  with  him.  Through  this  as- 
sociation, there  developed  a  strong  friendship  be- 
tween the  young  man  and  the  child,  which  ripened 
into  a  sort  of  guardianship  attachment  as  Eleanor 
grew  older.  When  she  began  to  prefer  his  com- 
pany to  the  more  eligible  boys  of  fewer  years,  her 
father  considered  it  wise  to  interfere;  and  he  met 
with  the  usual  result.  The  more  strenuously  he  op- 
posed, the  more  frequently  he  found  them  together. 
Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Edgar  was  twenty 
years  older  than  the  crowd,  he  managed  to  have 
himself  invited  to  the  parties  of  the  younger  set. 
Inez  Ellis  was  often  included  in  the  invitation;  but 
she  was  not  present  when,  evening  after  evening  for 
two  years,  Edgar  happened  to  walk  from  school 
with  Eleanor. 

Dr.  Harding's  sons  were  attending  college,  Dick 
intending  to  take  a  medical  course  and  Tom  a  lit- 
erary course;  the  older  to  follow  his  father's  profes- 
sion, the  younger  to  prepare  for  journalistic  work 
and  travel  on  the  Continent.  Barring  sickness  or 
outside  interference,  in  two  years,  Eleanor  would 
graduate  from  the  city  high  school,  when  she,  too, 
was  to  receive  the  polish  of  boarding-school  life. 
A  bond  of  sympathy  and  mutual  love  and  trust  ex- 


152  GRANDMOTHER 

isted  between  the  mother  and  daughter;  and  Mabel 
Kendrick  shared  their  confidence,  the  knowledge  of 
which  restrained  the  Doctor  from  going  to  his  wife 
with  vexations,  until  he  was  convinced  that  his  own 
efforts  to  control  affairs  were  useless.  Exasperated 
over  Edgar  Mill's  presumption,  he  swallowed  his 
humiliation  and  requested  his  wife  to  speak  to  Elea- 
nor, acknowledging  that  her  influence  might  con- 
strain the  headstrong  girl  in  the  hour  of  temptation. 
Mrs.  Harding  waited  for  a  favorable  opportunity 
and  then  approached  her  daughter  by  asking:  "Do 
you  enjoy  Edgar  Mills's  company,  Eleanor,  that 
you  let  him  walk  home  with  you  so  often?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  mamma.  He  is  delightful  to 
talk  with.  He  knows  so  much  and  is  so  droll  and 
humorous,"  Eleanor  replied. 

"Is  it  fair  to  Inez  for  you  to  monopolize  her 
lover?"  asked  Mrs.  Harding. 

"I'll  tell  you,  if  you  will  not  tell,"  said  Eleanor, 
smiling. 

"I'll  not  tell,"  her  mother  promised. 
"Not  tell  papa?" 

"Not  until  you  give  me  permission." 
"Papa  would  not  believe  me.    He  couldn't  under- 
stand it,  if  he  did.    He  has  no  romance  in  his  make- 
up; and  he  has  no  respect  for  other  people's  confi- 
dence.   So  I  can't  confide  in  you  unless  you  are  sure 
he  will  not  make  you  tell  him,"  she  stated  annoyedly. 
"Have  I  ever  broken  my  promise  to  you,  dear?" 
asked  her  mother. 

"No,  mamma ;  I'm  not  annoyed  at  you,  only  vexed 
at  the  way  papa  worries  the  life  out  of  you.  He  will 
ask  you  what  it  is  between  Edgar  and  me,  and,  when 
you  don't  tell,  then  you  catch  Hail  Columbia.  If  you 
could  learn  to  lie  a  little,  you  could  make  life  easier 
for  yourself.  Don't  look  so  distressed,  marnma.^ 
don't  mean  all  I  say.  I  could  not  love  you  so,  if  I 
did  not  know  how  perfectly  true  you  are.  But  this 


GRANDMOTHER  153 

affair  with  Edgar  really  does  not  amount  to  a  row 
of  pins,  and  I  think  I'd  better  not  tell  you." 

"Tell  me  this  much,"  asked  Mrs.  Harding;  "do 
you  care  for  Edgar  Mills?" 

"Care  for  him!  O  mamma,"  Eleanor  laughed 
a  cooing  little  giggle. 

"He's  a  fine  man,  and  well  circumstanced,  and 
Inez  is  a  dear,  good  girl;  and  I  would  not  like  for 
you  to  interfere  with  them,  unless  your  own  feelings 
are  enlisted,"  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

"They  are  enlisted  to  the  extent  of  doing  every- 
thing in  my  power  to  win  him  away  from  Inez." 
Again  Eleanor  indulged  in  a  queer  laugh. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 

"Can't  you  trust  me,  mamma?" 

"Certainly,  I  trust  you.  But  there  are  other  men 
that  I  would  prefer  to  have  you  marry." 

"Marry!  Mamma!  I  would  not  marry  the  Prince 
of  Wales,"  laughed  the  girl. 

"Then  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  Edgar?" 

"Teach  him  a  lesson,  do  Inez  a  favor,  and  shield 
myself  from  the  nuisance  of  the  infatuated  kids." 
Eleanor  laughed  merrily.  "I  will  tell  you  one  secret, 
mamma.  Papa  is  going  to  be  bamboozled  into  tak- 
ing me  on  a  trip  to  Europe  this  summer,  to  get  me 
away  from  Edgar.  That  will  be  glorious  fun.  I'll 
be  nice  to  him  abroad,  and  bring  back  a  copy  of  a  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  for  you,  and  some  pictures  of  Land- 
seer  for  Aunt  Mabel." 

The  girl  was  not  disappointed  in  her  prophecy. 
She  spent  an  interesting  four  months  touring  Lon- 
don, Paris,  Italy,  and  Germany,  with  her  father; 
and  Dr.  Harding  had  a  short  period  of  unalloyed 
pleasure.  The  hotels  at  which  they  stopped  became 
the  centre  of  interest,  and  the  beauty  of  the  American 
heiress  attracted  the  titled  Europeans,  with  whom 
very  agreeable  courtesies  were  exchanged. 

When  the  Louiston  school  opened  in  September, 


i54  GRANDMOTHER 

Eleanor,  in  consideration  of  her  father's  feelings  and 
his  generosity  during  their  trip  abroad,  put  Edgar 
Mills  on  probation  for  four  months,  promising  him 
the  usual  walk  home  after  that  time.  In  the  mean- 
time, she  flirted  with  every  boy  that  had  brains  and 
wit  to  interest  her.  At  the  dance,  at  the  rink,  boating 
on  the  river,  on  the  streets  to  and  from  school,  wher- 
ever the  amusement  was  gayest,  boys  accompanied 
her.  Her  lessons  were  easily  learned  and  books 
thrown  aside.  Her  father,  exasperated  beyond  en- 
durance by  his  wife's  persistent  excuses  for  her,  de- 
clared that  he  would  send  her  to  a  convent.  The 
mother  insisted  that  the  girl  was  simply  light-hearted 
and  happy,  and  not  interested  in  boys  further  than 
the  triumph  of  holding  them  in  subjection  to  her 
charms. 

When,  unexpectedly,  she  cut  the  whole  crowd  of 
admirers  and  renewed  her  sedate  walks  with  Edgar 
Mills,  her  father  stormed  and  her  mother  pondered 
the  situation  seriously. 

Eleanor  loved  her  mother  very  tenderly,  and 
could  not  endure  to  see  the  lines  of  worry  increase 
in  her  dear  face  on  her  account;  so  she  took  her 
Aunt  Mabel  into  her  confidence,  and  asked  her  to 
reassure  her  mother.  Mabel  watched  the  develop- 
ments of  the  little  romance  with  interest,  and  Dr. 
Harding's  anxiety  with  pleasure. 

The  brothers  came  home  for  their  summer  vaca- 
tion and  they,  with  Eleanor  and  Aunt  Mabel,  spent 
a  part  of  the  time  on  Lake  Geneva.  In  the  fall,  the 
boys  entered  on  their  last  year  of  study,  and  Eleanor 
returned  to  her  intimacy  with  Edgar  Mills. 

"It  is  the  hardest  thing  I  have  ever  tried  to  do, 
Aunt  Mabel,"  said  Eleanor,  laughing.  She  had  met 
her  aunt  down  town,  and  they  were  coming  home  to- 
gether. "It  has  been  nearly  three  years,  and  I'm 
almost  ready  to  give  up.  I  don't  like  to  fail,  and 


GRANDMOTHER  155 

yet,  paradoxical  as  it  sounds,  I  hope  I'll  not  be  suc- 
cessful." 

"What  an  odd  girl  Miss  Inez  is  to  persist  in  such 
a  notion,"  Mrs.  Kendrick  replied. 

"It  seems  quite  sensible  to  me,  Aunt  Mabel;  for 
men  are  so  very  fickle,  one  can't  tell  who  is  to  be 
trusted,"  averred  Eleanor. 

"You  have  had  abundance  of  experience,  I  sur- 
mise," said  her  aunt,  smiling. 

"Not  much  of  a  judge,"  laughed  Eleanor.  "The 
boys  I  have  known,  excepting  Edgar  Mills,  seem  so 
syncophantish  and  dull.  I  can  enjoy  a  young  man 
real  well  until  he  takes  a  notion  that  he's  in  love 
with  me;  then  he's  disgusting." 

"And  Edgar  Mills  isn't?"  Mrs.  Kendrick  asked. 

"No;  for  Edgar  is  genuine;  and  he  keeps  me  in- 
terested because  he  is  not  perfectly  sure  of  himself. 
At  least,  that  is  the  way  he  strikes  me,"  she  pon- 
dered. 

"Mr.  Mills  surely  is  old  enough  to  know  his  own 
heart,"  laughed  Mrs.  Kendrick. 

"O,  Aunt  Mabel,  you  know  a  kid  of  twelve  years 
is  surer  of  himself  than  a  man  of  thirty-five,"  said 
Eleanor,  merrily. 

"Girls  are  different,  are  they?"  and  Mrs.  Ken- 
drick smiled  in  sympathy.  "I  think,  if  a  woman 
truly  loves  a  man,  she  will  naturally  trust  him." 

"I  do,  too,"  assented  Eleanor;  "naturally  trusts 
and  intuitively  doubts." 

"Woman's  intuition  stands  in  the  way  of  a  man's 
success,  no  doubt,  some  times,"  said  Mrs. Kendrick. 

"Well,  I  have  just  got  to  bring  this  Edgar  Mills 
business  to  a  climax  soon.  I  can't  give  it  much  more 
time.  I  have  promised  the  boys  that  I  will  graduate 
with  the  honors  of  my  class.  And  I  must  work  this 
year,"  stated  Eleanor. 

"I'm  sure  we  shall  all  be  proud  of  you.  Come 
in  and  tell  me  the  sequel  after  the  climax." 


156  GRANDMOTHER 

They  parted  at  the  gate.  Mabel  Kendrick  went 
slowly  up  the  walk,  smiling  at  her  niece's  confidence 
in  herself  and  her  assurance  of  personal  ability,  re- 
membering her  own  past  experience.  There  was  a 
time  when  she  felt  capable  of  controlling  her  little 
world  by  the  law  of  love  and  power  of  the  will;  be- 
lieving that  embryonic  felicity  was  inherent  in  the 
individual,  subject  to  his  own  quickening  power,  cap- 
able of  development  under  all  circumstances.  But 
the  past  few  years  had  convinced  her  that  each  in 
his  own  environment  must  be  a  law  unto  himself, 
and  happiness  depends  on  the  periscopic  estimate  of 
social  and  moral  ethics. 

"Mamma,"  called  Eleanor  from  the  parlor,  "the 
carriage  is  to  be  here  in  twenty  minutes.  Please  call 
Aunt  Mabel  and  tell  her  to  hurry,  if  she  wishes  to 
see  me  before  I  start  to  the  dance.  She  asked  me 
to  let  her  know  when  I  was  dressed." 

In  a  few  minutes  her  mother  and  aunt  came  in, 
and  the  girl,  radiant  in  happiness,  stood  before  them. 
In  her  white  dress  and  slippers  and  the  white  rose 
in  her  waving  black  hair,  her  throat  like  the  Countess 
Potocka,  her  waist  like  a  Paquin  fashion-plate,  her 
soft,  white  arms,  dimpled  elbows,  and  tapering  fin- 
gers, the  whole  vibrating  with  the  joy  of  living,  she 
was  a  picture  of  purity.  She  held  her  skirts  up  fan- 
tastically, dancing  gracefully  around  the  room,  and 
smiling  back  at  her  admirers. 

"Edgar  Mills  will  lose  his  head  to-night,"  said 
Aunt  Mabel. 

"O,  that  is  ended,  Aunt  Mabel.  I  was  coming  to 
tell  you  to-day,  but  was  too  busy.  I  had  to  have 
my  dress  taken  back  to  the  dressmaker's.  It  was 
too  tight  across  the  bust;  and  she  put  this  bit  of  lace 
in  here;  but  it  makes  it  prettier,  don't  you  think?" 
she  asked. 


GRANDMOTHER  157 

"The  dress  is  lovely  in  every  way.  And  what 
did  you  do  with  Edgar?'  asked  her  mother. 

"Do  you  know  how  long  he  has  been  going  with 
Inez  Ellis?"  Eleanor  asked  in  reply. 

"  'Going  with.'  When  I  was  a  girl,  we  would  ask 
how  long  a  couple  had  been  sweethearts,'  "  laughed 
Aunt  Mabel. 

"They  have  been  'keeping  company'  off  and  on, 
for  seventeen  years,"  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

"Before  I  was  born,  how  funny!"  laughed  Elea- 
nor, dancing  again  and  watching  her  feet  in  the  che- 
val  glass. 

"Tell  us  about  Mr.  Mills?"  asked  Mrs.  Kendrick. 

"He  asked  to  take  me  to  the  dance  to-night,  and 
I  told  him  I  had  promised  to  go  with  my  father. 
Of  course,  he  did  not  believe  me.  I  didn't  expect 
him  to.  But  I  had  seen  Inez  and  told  her  the  situa- 
tion had  become  stale  and  made  her  agree  to  go  with 
him  if  I  didn't.  I  told  Aunt  Mabel,  mamma ;  but 
I  didn't  tell  you  that — Well,  anyway  Inez — You 
know,  Inez's  parents  separated  about  four  years 
ago,  and  her  mother  died,  broken-hearted;  and  she 
had  filled  Inez  full  of  the  notion  that  if  she  really 
loved  a  man  she  must  not  marry  him  until  she  was 
thoroughly  convinced  that  he  would  be  faithful  to 
her.  The  more  Inez  loved  Edgar,  the  more  she 
feared  to  marry  him,  lest  his  affections  stray  to  some 
other  girl  when  it  was  too  late;  so  she  begged  me 
to  'cut  her  out'  if  I  could,"  she  laughed  merrily. 

"You  were  sure  you  could,"  said  her  aunt. 

"Inez  ought  to  be  satisfied.  It  took  me  so  long; 
and  then  I  wasn't  very  successful.  I  spent  one  year 
just  praising  and  talking  about  Inez,  until  he  ac- 
knowledged it  was  more  pleasure  to  hear  me  talk 
about  her  than  to  hear  her  talk.  The  next  year,  he 
began  to  insist  on  my  talking  about  myself.  No; 
that  was  the  year  after  I  had  been  abroad.  I  think 


158  GRANDMOTHER 

I  do  tell  about  European  places  and  people  inter- 
estingly. It  is  so  easy  for  me  to  embellish;  and,  if 
I  forget  how  things  looked  or  what  people  said,  I 
make  it  more  entertaining  from  my  own  brain.  Papa 
says  I  get  that  from  you,  Aunt  Mabel.  Humbug- 
ging, he  means."  She  stopped  to  view  herself  in  the 
glass. 

"Go  on,  Eleanor.     Tell  it  all,"  said  her  mother. 

"O  yes,  I'd  forgotten.  Well,  last  night  \ve  walked 
and  walked.  Mr.  Mills  was  sober  and  I  cooed  and 
prattled;  and  I  was  looking  as  sweet  as  sweet.  I 
had  on  that  new  lawn  that  has  the  openwork  on  the 
front,  with  the  peek-a-boo  waist;  and  in  my  corset- 
cover  was  pink  satin  ribbon.  When  I  sighed,  the 
glimpse  of  my  neck  that  peeked  through  the  em- 
broidery was  real  bewitching.  You  needn't  smile, 
I  know  it  was.  Pretty  soon  he  took  hold  of  my  arm 
abruptly  and  said:  'Miss  Eleanor,  I  want  you  to 
marry  me.  And  you  must  answer  me  now.'  Sure, 
but  I  was  taken  by  surprise  !  I  had  planned  a  dozen 
different  things  to  say  at  this  important  moment. 
I  had  intended  being  awfully  serious  and  sympa- 
thetic; but,  it  struck  me  the  wrong  way,  and  I  just 
laughed  and  laughed.  Then,  when  he  didn't  fly  all 
to  pieces  and  get  mad,  I  laughed  the  more. 

"At  last,  I  said:  'What  do  you  want  to  marry 
me  for?'  And  he  replied:  'Because  I  am  tired  of 
waiting  for  Inez.  Poor  little  girl,  she  will  feel  pretty 
blue;  but  she  has  kept  me  miserable  a  long  time;  and 
I  know  that  you  and  I  can  enjoy  each  other.  I  am 
very  fond  of  you.  What  do  you  say?'  ' 

"  'But  I  want  the  man  that  I  marry  to  love  me,'  I 
answered.  'No,  you  don't.  You  get  disgusted  with 
a  fellow  as  soon  as  he  manifests  anything  of  a  grand 
passion.  We  would  be  happy  together.  You  really 
are  adorable.  You  make  a  man  think  and  act  and 
live,'  he  said. 

"'Mr.  Mills,  I'm  obliged  to  you;  but  I  advise 


GRANDMOTHER  159 

you  to  return  to  Inez.  Don't  tell  her  any  of  this 
foolishness ;  but  remember  this :  I  am  capable  of  lov- 
ing as  well  as  you  are;  and,  when  the  man  comes 
along  who  is  handsome  and  independent,  good- 
natured  and  jolly,  with  a  strong  magnetic  power  that 
can  subdue  my  will  to  his  own,  I  will  marry  him.' 
How  I  could  love  such  a  man !  It  makes  me  tremble 
to  feel  how  hard  I  could  love  him."  She  clasped  her 
hands  across  her  breast  in  an  imaginary  embrace  of 
her  ideal  hero. 

"There  is  your  carriage,  dear.  Don't  dance  too 
long.  Your  father  is  waiting.  Good-bye."  They 
threw  her  light  opera-coat  around  her  and  watched 
her  drive  off. 

She  managed  to  get  a  few  private  words  with  Inez 
Ellis  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  and  assured 
her  that  she  had  tried  in  every  way  to  entice  her 
lover  and  win  his  love  and  had  failed;  and  she 
averred  that  if  she  could  not  succeed,  Inez  need 
never  fear  the  machinations  of  others  in  the  future. 

Later,  while  she  was  dancing  with  Edgar  Mills, 
he  whispered:  "You  will  be  bridesmaid  for  Inez, 
won't  you?" 

She  replied  with  hearty  pleasure:  "Indeed,  I 
shall  be  proud  of  the  privilege." 


The  remainder  of  the  school-year  was  spent  in 
genuine  studious  application,  and  Eleanor  Harding 
merited  the  honors  conferred  on  her  as  valedictorian 
of  her  class.  Her  popularity  was  evidenced  in  the 
profusion  of  flowers  and  pretty  gifts  that  the  ushers 
piled  on  her  table  in  front  of  the  stage,  after  she 
had  delivered  her  oration,  the  evening  of  the  school 
commencement. 

"You  are  the  bulliest  girl  I  ever  looked  at,"  said 
Dick,  holding  her  at  arm's  length,  as  the  crowd  filed 
past,  congratulating  the  line  of  graduates.  "I  wish 
we  could  have  had  you  at  college  with  us." 


160  GRANDMOTHER 

"I'm  proud  of  you,  Sister,"  said  Tommy.  "I 
must  have  a  picture  of  you,  just  as  you  are  to-night, 
to  head  my  first  sensational  story." 

The  Harding  boys  had  finished  their  college 
course;  and,  after  a  few  weeks'  vacation,  Dick  was 
to  go  into  an  office  with  an  old  physician,  who  an- 
ticipated retiring  from  active  labor  in  a  short  time. 
The  location  was  in  a  town  of  a  few  thousand  in- 
habitants sixty  miles  from  Louiston.  Tommy  was 
to  start  in  on  a  Chicago  paper  for  a  year's  experi- 
ence, preparatory  to  being  sent  abroad.  Mrs.  Ken- 
drick  and  her  niece  were  to  revisit  Lake  Geneva, 
during  summer,  and  take  Mrs.  Harding  with  them 
for  a  month,  at  least. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  DISCOVERY. 

"How  long  have  you  been  running  on  the  river?" 
Uncle  Henry  asked  an  old  negro  man. 

"Nigh  onter  forty-five  year,"  replied  the  old 
negro. 

uYo'  see,  I  run  on  de  Mis'sippi  boat,  an'  on  de 
lo'er  Ohio,  an'  on  de  upp'r  river  boat.  Onest  I  wuz 
secon'  mate  on  de  Gen'l  Lytle.  I  wuz  on  de  'Merica 
de  time  her  klided  wid  de  Unit'd  States,  an'  set  de 
river  er  fire  wid  oil.  Yassar,  et  wuz  er  myrac'lous 
'scape  fur  me.  I  kin  nebber  fo'git  dat  night." 

The  two  men  were  sitting  on  bales  of  hay,  watch- 
ing the  steamer  deck-hands.  Between  landings,  the 
negroes  were  playing  craps,  or  scrambling  for  pen- 
nies that  some  man  on  the  upper  deck  threw  down 
among  them  for  the  amusement  of  the  passengers. 

"You  remember  'bout  everything  that  happened 
after  the  war,  I  reckon?"  queried  Uncle  Henry. 

"I  'low  my  mem'ry  ain't  like  et  uze  ter  wuz;  but 
I  mind  er  lot  er  things.  We  had  er  coff'n  shipped 
down  ter  Vicksburg.  Yassah,  lab'l'd  squar' — cor'- 
ner's  'quest — died  fer  heart  er  fail'n.  An'  good 
Lawd-er-mussy !  I  beared  sed  dat  de  box  wuz  chuck 
full  er  guns  an'  'munition.  Et  wuz  no  dead  en,  jes' 
ter  hep  de  rebs  shoot  de  Yanks.  Nuder  trip  we  tuck 
er  bar'l  er  apples  ter  Nashville,  an'  sho's  yo'  born, 
de  youn'  man  ez  wuz  gwine  'long,  he  sed  ter  me; 
sez  he,  'der  er  five  hundred  doll'  in  dat  bar'l.  Yas- 
sah, et  wuz  Nordern  gold." 

161 


1 62  GRANDMOTHER 

"But  why  did  he  tell  you?"  asked  Uncle  Henry, 
skeptically. 

"Et  wuz  doan  gone  up  de  grade  outen  de  reach 
er  my  ole  fist,"  laughed  old  Ezekiel. 

The  moon  was  flickering  over  the  water.  The 
deck-hands,  tired  of  gambling,  were  stretched  at  full 
length  over  the  floor,  singing  the  old  plantation 
melodies. 

"I  had  some  powerful  strange  experiences  after 
the  war,"  encouraged  Uncle  Henry;  "but  you  beat 
me.  I've  been  on  these  boats  'bout  four  years  an' 
you're  the  first  man  I've  found  who  knows  anything. 
These  younger  niggers  ain't  got  sense  'nough  to  re- 
member." 

"Yassah !  yassah,  I  tak'  er  heap  er  pride  er  rem- 
enicen',"  said  Ezekiel,  scratching  his  head,  flattered 
with  Henry's  encomium,  unsuspicious  of  a  deeper 
motive.  "Cose  yo'  ben  liben  wid  white  folks.  Yo'  ben 
edjecated,  an'  I  jes'  er  boss'n  niggers.  Jes'  er  same, 
I'se  'spectable.  Neber  see  me  down  on  de  flo' 
snoozin'.  Now,  dis  er  night  'minds  me  er  queer 
'sperience.  De  moon  flick'r'd  ober  de  water  skeery 
like.  Yo'  could  jest  see  ghosts  comin'  up  an'  down 
outen  de  river;  an'  I  know'd  sumfen  ed  happ'n  dat 
night.  An'  sho'  nuff,  we  land  'long  de  Indyany  shor', 
an'  four  tall  men  come  er  'toten  er  long  box  down 
from  de  weeds.  De  kreeps  run  down  my  back. 
Lawd-er-mussy,  sho's  yo'  born  dem  bushes  wuz  full 
er  sperets."  The  old  negro  shuddered.  "  'Heah, 
yo'  nigger,  git  hole  dis  er  box  er  bacon,'  yelled  de  big 
fat  mate.  Nigger  kin  smell  hog  bacon  er  mile  er 
mo',  an'  I  know'd  er  wuz  no  hog  bacon  in  dat  crate. 
I  seed  er  youn'  lad  er  look'n  arter  dat  er  freight,  an' 
sez  zi:  "I'se  yo'  man.'  Sez  ze:  'Eber  see  dat?' 
'Nosah,'  sez  zi.  An'  he  shut  his  fist  ober  er  five 
dolla'  gold  piece.  'Dat  fur  you,'  sez  ze.  'Thank 
ye,  sah,'  sez  zi.  An'  he  tech'd  his  hat  an'  walked 


GRANDMOTHER  163 

up  dem  stairs.  Dat  swing  er  his'n — 'ristocrat — 
South'rn — I'se  seed  'm.  Can't  make  'm  North.  By 
em  by,  ez  I  wuz  gwine  to  sto'  de  freight  'way,  I 
kivered  dat  box  clean  all  up." 

"Didn't  you  leave  room  for  it  to  get  the  air?" 
interrupted  Henry,  excitedly. 

"Lawd-er-mussy,  bacon  doan'  want  no  air." 

"But  you  said  it  wasn't  bacon,"  objected  Henry, 
impatiently. 

"Gimme  time,  Uncle  Henry;  I  doan  fo'got. 
Lemme  see,  'fore  mawnen',  I  beared  er  noise.  Sho's 
yo'  born,  sumfen  mov'  roun'  dat  er  box;  my  hyar 
straighten'  outen  de  kinks,  an'  riz  up  ter  see  er 
ghost,  an'  de  lad,  he  whisp'r'd,  'All  safe?'  'Jes 
so,'  sez  zi.  An'  he  wuz  gone  again." 

"Where  did  you  put  the  box  off?"  asked  Henry, 
again  interrupting  the  old  negro  in  his  story. 

"Five  miles  'bove  de  city.  Yassah,  in  ole  Kain- 
tuck,"  Ezekiel  replied. 

"Are  you  sure?    You  said  you  had  most  forgot." 

"Sho's  yo'  born.  Doan  I  see  er  toted  shor',  an' 
de  lad  sitten'  on  er  fur  haf  'n  'our.  An'  when  we 
wuz  puffin'  'way  down  stream,  I  heard  'em  whistle, 
an'  er  wagon  an'  four  men  come  outen  de  bushes  an' 
hawl  de  box  'way,"  explained  the  old  negro. 

With  a  sigh  of  disappointment,  Henry  asked  indif- 
ferently: "Did  you  get  the  five  dollars?" 

But  Uncle  Ezekiel  did  not  hear  the  question.  He 
was  enjoying  a  hearty  laugh  all  to  himself. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  Henry. 

"He-he-hee!"  chuckled  the  old  negro.  "  I  mind 
dat  ole  fat  mate.  He  jes'  cuss  ter  beat  any  mate  I 
eber  seed  when  dat  box  wuz  order'd  ter  go  er  shor'. 
Lawd-er-mussy,  whar  wuz  er?  De  fat  mate,  he  cuss 
dat  black  nigger,  he,  he,  he.  N'awful  mean  nigger!" 
Again  Ezekiel  laughed,  recalling  how  he  escaped 
while  another  got  the  basting. 


'i  64  GRANDMOTHER 

"What  was  in  the  box?"  asked  Henry,  annoyed. 

Again  and  again  Henry  thought  he  was  on  the 
track  of  the  information  he  was  seeking,  to  be  as 
often  disappointed.  One  yarn  after  another  he  had 
led  this  old  man  to  tell,  watching  every  point  for 
the  clue  he  was  hunting.  "Did  you  get  the  five  dol- 
lars?" 

"Sho's  yo'  born.  When  dat  fat  mate  wuz  er  cuss'n 
kaze  de  box  wuz  kiver'd  up,  de  lad  er  sed  ter  me: 
'See  you  'gin,  'bout  er  week,'  an1  I  felt  sumfin  cold 
right  dar,"  and  Ezekiel  slapped  his  fingers  over  his 
palm  and  rubbed  it,  in  memory  of  the  gold  piece. 

"Did  you  see  him  again?"  asked  Henry. 

"Yassah,  yassah.  An'  er  tole  me  dat  he  had  de 
body  er  his  onkle  in  dat  er  box.  He  wuz  er  Con- 
federate officer.  'Scaped  fro'  Ohio  prison,  an'  er 
died  'fore  er  crost  de  river.  An'  he  tuck  er  body 
home." 

"Did  you  ever  see  any  boxes  of  gold  or  crates  of 
china  or  cases  of  candlesticks  sent  back  South  after 
the  war?"  asked  Uncle  Henry.  "Some  folks  buried 
their  treasures.  In  our  part  they  shipped  them  away 
to  friends  up  North.  Some  fellows  just  threw  money 
away.  My  old  Misses  was  fixing  a  tombstone  in 
the  graveyard  and  found  gold  pieces  scattered  all 
'round.  Must  have  been  some  party  close  pressed, 
or  skedaddling." 

"Neber  had  no  sich  luck,"  replied  the  old  steam- 
boat man.  "I  do  mind  er  seein'  one  queer  box,  an' 
I  reckon  er  wuz  full  er  gold.  Neber  seeded  er  findin' 
outen  'bout  dat  box." 

"Where  did  it  come  from?"  questioned  Henry. 

Another  landing  and  its  incumbent  duties  separ- 
ated the  men,  and  several  days  intervened  before 
Henry  found  Ezekiel  alone. 

"Wake  up  !  Uncle;  I  can't  let  you  sleep  a  night  like 
this.  Here,  talk  to  me,"  said  Uncle  Henry,  shaking 
the  old  negro  off  a  pile  of  sacks  of  wheat. 


GRANDMOTHER  165 

Ezekiel  arose  to  a  sitting  posture  with  his  chin 
in  his  hands  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 

"You  ain't  told  me  'bout  that  last  box,"  said  Uncle 
Henry. 

"What  fur  yo'  allers  axen  'bout  boxes?"  yawned 
the  negro.  "Neber  yo'  heared  'bout  dat  gal  I  hid 
in 'mongst  de  freight?  Sho'?  Dat  gal,  O  Lawd-er- 
mussy,  dat  gal  wuz  Kaintuckian  true  blue.  Eyes, 
bright  er  dat  star  'bove  yo'  head;  cheeks  redder'n 
dis  bandanna  er  mine,  whar  ez  clean;  feet — Lawd- 
er-mussy,  I  kin  see  dat  er  foot  now.  Her  dad  own'd 
me  'fore  de  war.  He  wuz  up  country  buyin'  cattle; 
an'  while  he  wuz  gone  dat  little  gal  run  er  way  wid 
er  luber.  Den  'n  ole  skezicks  telegram  ter  'm  ter 
ketch  er  on  de  boat.  I  seed  de  ole  man  come  ridin' 
down  ter  de  bank,  wavin'  his  torch  ter  hail  de  boat. 
De  youn'  man  er  run  up  on  top  an'  begg'd  de  Capt'n 
not  ter  land  de  boat.  Pilot  heared  'em  say:  'Ten 
dollars  an'  you  doan  let  dat  man  git  on.'  'Too  late,' 
boat  wuz  swingin'  round.  De  little  gal  seed  'm  an', 
clean  down  in  er  hull,  she  run  arter  me. 

"  'O,  Unk  Zekiel,  hide  me  from  Dad,'  er  cried. 
An'  I  jes'  tuck  her  up  in  my  arms  like  I  doan  when 
er  wuz  er  baby  an'  toted  er  down  behin'  er  pack  er 
boxes  an'  kivered  her  wid  er  buffalo  robe.  Ole  dad 
er  stormed  an'  hunted  an'  watched  de  state-room 
whar  de  clerk  sed  she  wuz  sleepin'.  He,  he,  he,  Dad 
er  hired  er  cabin-boy  ter  watch  de  outside  door.  But 
Lawd-er-mussy,  kain't  do  nuttin'  when  youn'  folks 
ez  lubbin'  each  udder.  I  'lowed  de  little  gal  wuz 
skeered  an'  lonesome :  an'  I  mozied  back  an'  front, 
an'  sung  er  song.  When  er  heared  me,  er  laughed, 
soft  like. 

"De  ole  dad's  aboard,  frownin'  awful  hard — 

Lay  low,  Sissy;  lay  low,  Sissy. 
Trust  in  de  Lawd;  ole  Zekiel  he's  on  guard — 

Lay  low,  Sissy;  lay  low,  Sissy. 


1 66  GRANDMOTHER 

"When  dat  er  boat  whistled  fur  Aberdeen  Fse 
powerful  glad.  De  youn'  man  he  hurry  up  de  bank, 
an'  I  follow  wid  de  buffalo  robe  ober  my  arm,  an'  de 
little  gal  hid  inside  er.  Squire  Sheldon  wuz  ready, 
an'  sho'  married  'em.  Lawd-er-mussy,  dey  went  back. 
ter  de  boat,  an'  de  ole  dad  wuz  soun'  asleep  in  his 
chair.  De  little  gal  touched  his  nose  an  sed: 
'Daddy,  sleepin'  when  yo'  gal  ez  married!'  Lawd- 
er-mussy,  er  jumped  an'  I  sed:  'Sho',  Massah,  I'se 
de  witness.' ' 

Again  the  landing  separated  the  companions,  and 
weeks  passed  before  their  private  conversation  was 
renewed.  Henry  had  served  a  term  as  porter  on 
all  the  different  boats  that  travelled  the  river  past 
the  Farnam  homestead;  and,  so  far,  he  had  failed  in 
securing  light  on  the  secret  mission  with  which  he 
was  intrusted.  He  had  been  unable  to  find  a  man, 
among  deckhands  or  officers,  who  had  been  in  any 
way  associated  with  the  mysterious  transactions  of 
which  he  was  privy.  The  information  he  desired  to 
obtain  might  so  affect  the  honor  of  innocent  per- 
sons that  the  faithful  servant  was  using  every  pre- 
caution to  avoid  exciting  the  curiosity  of  those  he 
tried  to  catechize.  Having  found  that  the  old  negro, 
Ezekiel,  had  been  running  on  the  river  for  a  period 
overlapping  the  time  of  his  personal  experience,  he 
wisely  concluded  that  some  clue  to  the  mystery  was 
stowed  away  in  his  brain;  and  he  must,  by  patiently 
listening  to  his  tales  of  steamboating,  finally  draw 
on  the  perplexing  problem  without  arousing  suspi- 
cion. 

Ezekiel  prided  himself  on  being  able  to  compre- 
hend the  mysterious,  and,  characteristically,  forget- 
ting what  he  could  not  explain.  Consequently 
Henry  had  to  call  him  back  to  the  starting  point 
again  and  again. 

"You  didn't  tell  me  'bout  that  box  of  gold?" 
questioned  Henry,  when  they  were  alone. 


GRANDMOTHER  167 

"I  doan  fo'got  all  'bout  er,"  said  Ezekiel. 

"O  no,  you  haven't,"  encouraged  Henry. 

"  'Pears  ter  me  like  yo'  ought  ter  'member  dat 
box,"  mused  Ezekiel. 

"What  was  it  like?" 

"Like  er  ole  iron  box,  'cept  der~wuz  holes  all 
roun'  de  top,  big  'nuff  ter  poke  er  silber  dolla'  in.  I 
been  tryin'  ter  'member  whar  I  seed  yo'.  Ain't  yo' 
one  er  de  men  who  help  load  er  on  de  wagon?"  and 
Ezekiel  looked  closely  at  his  companion. 

"Where  was  it?"  questioned  Henry,  evasively. 

"Down  to  Marse  Fillmore's  landin'.  De  label 
said  er  wuz  fur  de  parson.  He  married  Miss  Laura 
Fillmore,"  mused  Ezekiel. 

"But  the  minister  was  not  living,"  said  Henry. 

"I  know'd  ez  yo'  waz  dar,"  grinned  Ezekiel.  "De 
preacher's  name  wuz  Falconer.  I  'low  dey  doan 
'spect  dat  iron  box;  'case  dey  wuz  down  ter  de  landin' 
ter  git  'Miss'  Laura's  furniture.  She  come  down  ter 
live  wid  her  gal,  arter  de  parson  died,"  continued 
Ezekiel. 

"How  did  you  know  all  this?"  Henry  asked,  curi- 
ously. 

"Sho',  my  old  'oman  b'long  ter  ole  man  Fillmore. 
She  cook  Miss  Laura  er  weddin'  dinner.  She  wuz 
on  de  boat  an'  seed  er.  I  neber  been  in  dat  part  er 
ole  Kaintuck.  Wer  had  so  many  picconninnies,  never 
hed  no  chanct  ter  go." 

Again  Henry  turned  the  old  negro  back  to  the 
subject  of  his  search.  "Where  did  the  iron  box 
come  from?" 

"Lawd-er-mussy,  how  kin  I  tell?  I  doan  know. 
But  I  lay,  I  er  neber  fo'git  de  face  er  dat  man.  We 
wuz  jes'  'bout  ter  shuve  outen  de  wharf  er  city  er 
Louiston.  De  bell  had  rung  fur  passengers  ter  git 
on  an'  off;  an'  I  seed  erman  on  er  rickerty  ole  wagon, 
scurryin'  down  grade,  wavin'  his  hat  ter  de  boat. 


1 68  GRANDMOTHER 

He  jes'  look'd  like  er  wild  ghost."  Ezekiel  was 
growing  sleepy. 

"What  kind  of  a  wagon?"  asked  Henry. 

"Huxter  wagon  wid  er  top  broke  off,"  the  tired 
old  man  replied. 

"Did  you  hear  anything  that  the  man  said?" 
asked  Henry,  excitedly. 

"Can't  say  ez  I  do.  No  time.  Boat  pullin'  out. 
I  seed  'em  pay  de  freight  an'  point  ter  de  'dress. 
Den  I  help  tote  er  'board.  Heavy!  Wheel" 

"How  old  was  the  man  ?    What  did  he  look  like  ?" 

"I  reckon,  now,  sumers  'bout  thirty.  He  doan 
look  like  nuttin'  ter  me.  Jes'  skeered  ter  death 
'fear'd  er  miss  de  boat.  I  do  mind  now,"  chuckled 
the  old  negro,  rousing  from  his  stupor,  as  the  boat 
whistled  for  some  landing,  "dat  man  had  one  ear 
cut  off,  an'  I  low'd  er  wuz  er  great  gran'son  er  dat 
man  de  Apostle  Peter  whacked  wid  his  sword  fur 
b'trayin'  de  Lawd." 

Henry  drew  a  deep,  long  sigh.  Then,  said  to 
himself:  "D.  V.,  D.  V. !  A  man  minus  one  ear  in 
a  large  city — like  a  needle  in  a  haystack.  The  Lord 
willing,  I'll  find  him." 

He  remained  on  the  boat  until  the  end  of  the 
month  and  a  new  porter  was  secured  to  fill  his  place; 
but  he  gathered  nothing  more  from  Ezekiel  that 
could  aid  him  in  his  search. 


CHAPTER  XL 

BOARDING  SCHOOL. 

The  sun  was  slipping  from  the  zenith,  and  the 
leaves  trembled  and  blushed  under  the  caresses  of 
the  first  fall  winds.  The  squirrels  were  busy  _seek- 
ing  their  homes,  that  abundant  store  might  be  laid  in 
for  the  coming  winter.  The  birds  were  following 
the  sun  to  the  south,  and  the  flowers  were  scattering 
their  pollen  to  mate  with  kindred  pistils  before  they 
lay  buried  beneath  the  falling  leaves.  While  the 
summer  was  preparing  to  retire  for  a  season  of  re- 
pose and  recuperation,  young  humanity  was  quicken- 
ing into  activity  and  acute  energy.  In  the  city  of 
Danboro,  the  college  halls  were  crowded  by  bustling 
servants,  disposing  of  boxes  and  trunks;  young 
women  were  flitting  in  every  direction,  nervously  get- 
ting their  belongings  together,  merrily  greeting  each 
other,  or  tearfully  saying  good-bye  to  parents  or 
guardians.  The  campus  was  overrun  by  students 
greeting  old  comrades  and  discussing  the  ball  teams 
for  the  ensuing  year.  The  gymnasium  rang  with 
the  laughter  of  the  girls,  and,  under  deft  fingers,  the 
pianos  vibrated  a  welcome  to  the  music  pupils.  The 
dignified  officials  looked  with  gratification  at  the  ex- 
uberance of  joyous  student  life,  and,  behind  a  mask 
of  seventy,  smiled  in  remembrance  of  the  time  when 
they,  too,  could  run  and  laugh  and  play. 

For  the  first  few  days,  unrestricted  intercourse 
was  permitted  between  the  college  and  seminary  stu- 
dents, to  enable  brothers  and  sisters  to  separate 

169 


170  GRANDMOTHER 

their  possessions  and  become  adjusted  to  their  own 
spheres.  Russell  and  Ralph  Farnam  had  returned, 
bringing  their  sister,  Varena,  with  them.  The 
brothers  were  in  the  junior  class;  and,  as  the  course 
of  study  for  the  young  women  was  limited,  com- 
pared to  the  curriculum  required  by  the  college, 
their  sister  expected  to  be  graduated  from  the  semi- 
nary in  two  years,  and  together  bring  their  school  life 
to  a  close.  Ralph,  whose  intercourse  with  the  young 
ladies  for  the  past  four  years  had  been  restrained 
by  conventionalities,  was  anticipating  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  his  popularity,  through  the  close  proximity 
the  presence  of  his  sister  would  secure  for  him.  He 
was  counting,  too,  on  a  pleasure  in  bringing  his 
brother  under  the  influence  of  that  galaxy  of  lovely 
girls.  Duty  would  require  them  to  call  to  see  their 
sister  on  the  regular  reception  evenings;  and,  if  there 
could  not  be  found  some  fair  maid  to  win  him  from 
the  serious  absorption  of  his  studies,  he  must  be 
given  up  as  a  piece  of  adamant,  impervious  to  femi- 
nine charms. 

Now,  while  Ralph  was  here,  there  and  everywhere, 
meeting  the  old  friends,  greeting  the  new  students, 
inquiring  for  sisters  and  cousins,  Russell  was  in  the 
dormitory,  unpacking  their  trunk  and  arranging  their 
room,  preparatory  to  serious  study. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  brother?"  asked 
one  of  the  boys  of  Ralph. 

"Nothing,  only  more  quiet  and  serious,"  replied 
Ralph.  "Why?" 

"He  looks  like  he'd  been  sick,"  replied  an  awk- 
ward, overgrown  boy,  who  had  visited  the  school  in 
the  spring  and  returned  to  enter  the  preparatory. 
"I'd  take  him  to  be  older  than  you  are;  but  Sister 
says  you're  twins.  Are  you?" 

"Yes,"  was  Ralph's  laconic  reply. 

"They  say  you  looked  older  when  you  first  came 
to  school,"  continued  Horace  Runyan.  "Everybody 


GRANDMOTHER  171 

thinks  I'm  a  good  deal  older  than  the  record  in  the 
family  Bible  indicates." 

"Your  sister  did  not  come,  did  she?"  asked  Ralph. 

"Yes.  She's  going  to  take  French  and  painting 
this  year.  Mother  sent  her  back  to  look  after  me  till 
I  get  acquainted.  And  Sarah  told  me  to  make  a 
friend  of  you,"  said  Horace,  with  an  embarrassed 
smile. 

"Did  she  mean  it?"  asked  Ralph,  in  surprise. 
"She  knows  I'm  a  shiftless,  don't-care  sort  of  a  fel- 
low, learning  my  lessons  in  order  to  pass  my  exams, 
and  there  it  ends.  I'm  friendly  with  everybody 
because  they  are  all  clever  to  me.  But  if  Miss 
Sarah  thinks  I  can  do  you  any  favors,  I'll  be  glad 
to  try.  She's  been  a  mighty  good  friend  to  me,  dear 
old  girl." 

"You  call  'm  all  dear,  don't  you?"  asked  Horace, 
grinning. 

"Girls?  Sure!  I'm  in  love  with  about  twenty. 
They're  like  sunshine  in  winter,  snowflakes  in  sum- 
mer, making  existence  worth  while  by  exhilarating 
surprises.  Tell  your  sister  that  a  glorious  new  girl 
came  on  the  train  this  morning;  that  reminds  me  of 
her  promise " 

"There  goes  Sister,  now,"  interrupted  Horace. 
"We  can  overtake  her  before  she  gets  to  the  corner." 
The  boys  quickened  their  steps  and  came  up  on  either 
side  of  Sarah  Runyan. 

"Oh!  You  startled  me,  Horace.  But  you're  a 
good  boy,  obeying  instructions  promptly.  Where 
did  he  find  you,  Ralph?  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  Sarah 
said. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  he  found  me?  Staring  up 
at  the  Sem.  windows,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  a 
pretty  face?"  answered  Ralph,  laughing. 

"What  did  you  promise  me  last  year?"  Sarah 
asked. 

"To  let  the  girls  alone  this  year,  provided  you'd 


172  GRANDMOTHER 

get  Russell  in  love  with  one,"  stated  Ralph, 
promptly. 

"Yes.  Well,  you  must  give  me  time  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  the  new  girls  and  find  one  that  has 
the  qualifications  necessary  to  enlist  his  interest.  It 
will  be  quite  a  bit  of  fun;  for  Russell  is  a  problem," 
said  Sarah,  smiling. 

"Have  you  seen  Russ,  yet?"  asked  Ralph. 

"No;  I've  been  busy  getting  located.  Being  such 
an  old  girl,  and  having  to  teach  some  classes,  too, 
they  wanted  me  to  take  charge  of  one  floor.  I 
wouldn't  assume  the  responsibility;  so  I'm  not  fully 
settled  yet.  There's  a  very  handsome  young  girl  in 
my  room.  I've  not  seen  her;  but,  in  all  probability, 
I'll  be  domiciled  with  her,"  explained  Sarah.  "Where 
is  your  brother  now?" 

"Doing  my  work,  as  usual.  I'll  find  my  books  all 
laid  out  in  order  and  my  traps  all  put  away.  Keeps 
me  from  missing  grandmother,"  said  Ralph.  "But 
blamed  if  I  know  what's  got  the  matter  with  Russ 
this  summer.  Acts  like  a  fellow  whose  divinity  had 
refused  to  shine  for  him  alone." 

"But  he  has  no  divinity,"  laughed  Sarah. 

"Never  had.  There's  the  problem.  Solve  it," 
urged  Ralph. 

"Give  me  time,"  demanded  the  young  woman. 

Horace  had  fallen  behind  with  a  student  in  his 
own  class  and  missed  this  enigmatical  conversation. 

Varena  Farnam  was  a  specimen  of  the  perfectly 
happy  school-girl.  Her  goal  had  been  reached — 
going  off  to  college.  She  had  a  trunk  full  of  pretty 
clothes,  and  every  article  was  in  perfect  condition. 
Now  she  was  revelling  in  the  delight  of  unpacking  in 
a  pretty  little  room,  with  windows  that  looked  to- 
ward the  dormitory  in  which  her  brothers  dwelt;  of 
unwrapping  dainty  little  articles  and  consulting  a 
modest  room  mate  about  the  prettiest  place  to  hang 
them,  of  arranging  bric-a-brac  and  dressing  the 


GRANDMOTHER  173 

toilet-stand,  of  adjusting  the  study-table  and  beauti- 
fying the  dresser.  Her  room  was  in  a  quiet  part  of 
the  building  with  easy  access  to  the  music  floor.  One 
window  opened  on  a  balcony  that  overlooked  the 
park.  In  the  distance,  a  stream  came  gushing  down 
from  the  hills  and  wound  its  way  among  clumps  of 
trees  that  dotted  its  banks,  back  of  the  college  build- 
ings. Russell  had,  by  special  request,  secured  this 
location  for  his  sister,  that  she  might  enjoy  the  view 
of  the  river  and  be  able  to  exchange  handkerchief 
greetings  with  him.  It  had  been  his  habit,  spring 
and  fall,  to  take  his  books  and  study  under  a  large 
hickory-nut  tree  that  stood  alone  near  a  small  group 
of  saplings. 

Varena,  shaking  the  wrinkles  from  her  dresses  as 
she  took  them  from  a  packing-box,  held  them  up 
for  her  roommate's  admiration. 

"They  told  me  I  was  to  have  a  nice  country  girl 
to  room  with  this  year.  You  don't  dress  and  act 
like  a  country  girl,"  commented  Mary  Baker,  seri- 
ously. 

"Where  are  you  from?"  asked  Varena,  naively. 

"From  Milwaukee,  Wisconsin.  You're  a  Ken- 
tuckian,  aren't  you?" 

"Don't  I  look  like  one?" 

"Yes;  but  you  don't  talk  as  most  of  the  Southern 
girls  do,"  replied  Mary,  honestly. 

"You  mean  like  the  darkies  talk?"  asked  Varena, 
laughing  merrily. 

Mary  remained  silent  under  what  she  interpreted 
as  ridicule. 

"I'm  not  laughing  at  you.  I'm  thinking  how 
pleased  Grandmother  will  be  to  know  that  her  train- 
ing is  recognized.  Don't  you  know  that  the  country 
people  are  among  the  true  aristocracy  of  Kentucky? 
The  same  farm  has  been  held  under  one  family  name 
for  generations.  Finden,  that's  our  place,  goes  back 
to  the  first  settlers;  the  land  was  deeded  to  them  by 


174  GRANDMOTHER 

the  government,"  explained  Varena,  turning  to  face 
her  roommate,  pride  of  birth  speaking  in  every  curve 
of  her  youthful  aplomb. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  offend  you,"  replied  Mary. 
We'll  get  along  together,  though  I'm  a  bit  dis- 
appointed." 

"I'm  not  offended,  and  it  isn't  kind  to  talk  that 
way  at  the  beginning.  We  have  to  like  each  other  if 
we  want  to  study  together  with  any  pleasure.  I'm 
sure  I've  been  thinking  you  were  very  nice,"  stated 
Varena. 

"O  you're  nice  enough.  I  like  you  immensely," 
Mary  hastened  to  say.  "It  wasn't  that.  It  was  a 
fear  that  you  wouldn't  be  studious,  while  I  just  have 
to  study.  I  borrowed  the  money  to  educate  myself 
for  a  teacher,  and  I've  no  time  to  waste  on  pretty 
clothes." 

"Will  my  clothes  annoy  you?"  asked  Varena. 

"They  distract  my  attention  a  little,  but  I  think  I 
can  get  used  to  them,"  Mary  replied  soberly. 

"Of  course,  you  think  I  will  waste  my  time.  Don't 
you?"  said  Varena,  laughingly. 

"Your  dresses  are  lovely,  and  you  are  really  very 
pretty  yourself;  besides,  you  have  a  little  telltale  air 

about  you,  that  I .  Well,  I  hope  you  will  like 

to  study."  Mary  spoke  with  such  droll  earnestness 
that  Varena  turned  to  the  task  of  completing  her  un- 
packing. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  box,  she  held  up  a  large 
picture  of  her  grandmother  and  cried  impulsively: 
"There's  the  dearest,  sweetest,  best,  and  prettiest 
creature  that  ever  lived."  She  kissed  it  affectionately 
and  hung  it  where  she  would  see  it  when  she  first 
opened  her  eyes  each  morning. 

"Now,  Mary  Baker,  please  tell  me  what  there 
is  about  me  that  tells  tales,  and  I'll  forgive  you  for 
being  disappointed  in  me,"  Varena  urged. 

"I  think  I  am  going  to  be  agreeably  disappointed, 


GRANDMOTHER  175 

because  you  will  study  for  love  of  your  grand- 
mother," said  Mary,  still  serious.  "You  love  her," 
looking  up  at  the  picture,  "and  you  love  to  be  loved." 

"Of  course,"  responded  Varena.  "Did  you  ever 
know  any  one  who  didn't  enjoy  being  loved?" 

"There  are  many  who  care  more  for  glory,  wealth, 
and  ambition,  than  affection  of  any  kind,"  said  Mary 
morosely. 

"We'll  not  class  such  vain,  selfish  people  among 
our  friends,"  Varena  declared,  tumbling  from  a  chair 
on  which  she  had  been  standing  to  hang  a  copy  of 
Murillo's  "Madonna  of  Love."  "But  you  have  not 
yet  interpreted  my  telltale  physiognomy." 

"It's  not  your  pretty  face,  nor  your  soft  voice, 
nor  your  graceful  figure,  but  something  in  the  whole 
combination  that  shows  you've  been  a  favorite  with 
girls  and  boys,  young  and  old,  and  you  still  expect 
to  be  the  favorite,"  Mary  answered  in  all  serious- 
ness. 

"And  why  not?"  Varena  laughed  heartily. 

"You'll  have  a  larger  world  to  conquer  and  more 
applicants  for  the  honor.  In  our  little  community 
at  home,  I  was  considered  quite  a  clever  girl.  I  was 
respected  for  my  ambitions  and  learning;  and,  really, 
the  folks  looked  up  to  me  in  my  plain  clothes,"  Mary 
almost  smiled. 

"And  haven't  they  the  same  regard,  since  you 
have  added  two  years  of  boarding-school  experience 
to  your  knowledge?"  questioned  Varena. 

"The  difference  is  in  me,"  Mary  replied.  "Two 
years  ago  I  thought  I  was  quite  a  bright  girl;  but 
I'm  beginning  to  realize  how  little  I  know,  and  I 
find  so  many  way  in  advance  of  me." 

"And  I'll  venture  to  assert  that  you  have  more 
learning  stored  away  in  that  modest  head  of  yours 
than  half  those  who  make  a  display  of  their  wisdom. 
I  think  we  are  fortunate  in  being  placed  together. 
I  need  you,  and  vice  versa.  Come  out  on  the  bal- 


176  GRANDMOTHER 

cony  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air;  then  we  must  get 
ready  for  dinner." 

They  stepped  through  the  window,  and  Varena's 
eyes  swept  the  vista,  until  she  distinguished  the  large 
hickory  tree  her  brother  had  described  to  her.  There 
sat  Russell  with  his  books.  A  radiance  of  exquisite 
pleasure  played  over  her  face.  She  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  the  fresh  breeze  and  waved  and  waved. 

"Is  that  your  sweetheart?"  asked  Mary  in  sur- 
prise, watching  the  exchange  of  signals. 

"Sweetheart!"  laughed  Varena.  "I  love  him  a 
thousand  times  better  than  any  girl  ever  loved  a 
sweetheart.  That's  my  brother;  the  dearest  boy 
that  ever  lived." 

"Wait  until  he  finds  a  sweetheart;  then  you  won't 
think  he  is  such  a  good  brother.  I  loved  my  brother 
and  trusted  him,  too,  and  he  married  and  used  up 
my  little  earnings  and  has  not  found  it  convenient  to 
repay  me."  Mary  indulged  in  a  quaint  little  laugh. 

"If  any  girl  should  come  between  me  and  my 

brother Well,  I  wouldn't  kill  her,  because  I 

don't  want  to  spend  eternity  in  Hades;  but — I  don't 
know.  He  has  promised  not  to  fall  in  love  till  I 
meet  my  fate;  so  I  guess  I'll  not  worry."  She  waved 
a  good-bye  and  followed  Mary  into  their  room. 

"Is  that  the  dinner  bell  ?  You  lead  the  way,  Mary, 
and  tell  me  what  to  do.  You  know  I'm  green  in 
boarding-school.  Let  me  fix  your  hair  a  little.  I'll 
have  to  put  this  other  comb  of  mine  in.  Hold  still. 
That  looks  very  pretty.  Did  you  know  your  collar 
was  soiled?  Take  this  of  mine.  Hurry,  let  me  fix  it. 
It  is  soft  and  fleecy  about  your  throat — see;  that  is 
becoming  to  you.  You  mustn't  wear  those  stiff  col- 
lars any  more.  Just  let  me  tone  you  up  a  little,  and 
you'll  be  a  beauty." 

"That's  the  first  compliment  I've  had  in  Danboro. 
I'm  ashamed  of  saying  I  was  disappointed." 

Mary  looked  so  sorry  Varena  kissed  her,  saying: 


GRANDMOTHER  177 

"You  were  afraid  I  would  not  study,  that  was  all. 
I'm  not  sorry  you  spoke  truthfully;  for  I  have 
learned  to  know  you.  Honesty  is  a  cardinal  virtue. 
Lead  the  way,  please,"  said  Varena. 

In  the  hall  they  met  Sarah  Runyan,  who  greeted 
them  cordially:  "Hello,  Mary;  you  are  back  again. 
How  well  you  are  looking!  And  this  is  your  new 
roommate,  Miss  Farnam.  I  know  your  brothers 
quite  well,  and  hope  we  shall  be  good  friends. 

"Thank  you.  I  have  heard  Ralph  speak  of  you 
often,"  Varena  answered. 

"I've  been  a  kind  of  an  older  sister  to  the  boys, 
Ralph  especially.  He  will  not  need  me  now,  with 
you  here,"  said  Sarah. 

"You  have  a  brother  coming  this  year,  Ralph 
said,"  Varena  replied. 

"Yes;  Horace  is  here.  Perhaps  we  can  swop 
sisterly  courtesies.  I  would  appreciate  having  you 
help  him  a  little.  He's  a  big,  bashful,  overgrown 
boy;  and  friends  like  you  and  Mary  Baker  can  steer 
him  through  the  hard  places,"  said  Sarah. 

"I'm  sure  he  is  the  very  friend  that  I  shall  need 
myself,"  spoke  Varena  sincerely. 

"Thank  you.  Are  you  going  to  room  together?" 
She  turned  to  Mary  Baker  with  her  question. 

"Of  course!    Why  not?"  Mary  answered. 

"I  thought  you  might  have  had  an  experience  sim- 
ilar to  mine,  and  agreed  to  disagree,"  and  Sarah 
smiled. 

"You?"  questioned  Mary,  in  surprise.  "Sarah 
graduated  two  years  ago,  the  first  year  that  I  was 
here,"  she  explained  to  Varena. 

"Then  last  year  I  took  a  few  extra  branches,  so 
that  I  could  be  with  my  cousin,  a  pretty  gay  little 
girl;  and  this  year  I'm  here  to  get  Horace  started  in 
the  right  course.  I  will  teach  one  or  two  classes  in 
French.  Needn't  hurry,  that  was  the  first  bell," 
added  Sarah. 


178  GRANDMOTHER 

"And  where  are  you  located  this  year?"  Mary 
asked. 

"The  faculty  requested  me  to  take  a  room  in  the 
south  wing  and  superintend  the  third  floor,  and  I 
declined.  Then  they  said  I  could  share  my  old  room; 
but  they  had  already  put  one  of  the  new  girls  in 
there.  They  were  sure  I  would  enjoy  being  with 
her;  for  she  was  very  beautiful  and  bright,  and  had 
come  highly  recommended.  She  proved  to  be  too 
magnificent  for  me,"  said  Sarah,  laughing  good- 
naturedly. 

"What  was  the  trouble?"  asked  Mary,  with  a 
guilty  feeling  in  her  own  heart.  "Perhaps  you  were 
hasty  in  conclusions." 

"I  think  not.  She's  a  handsome  girl,  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  rich  as  a  Rothschild.  She  looks  like  a 
Jewess,  with  her  black  hair  and  eyes;  and,  perhaps, 
I  angered  her  with  my  first  question,  for  I  asked  if 
her  parents  were  Jews.  She  flashed  her  eyes  on  me, 
and  they  sparkled  for  a  moment;  but  she  quietly  re- 
plied, 'No.'  Then,  when  we  began  unpacking  she 
asked:  'How  shall  we  divide  the  space?'  'What 
space?'  I  questioned,  and  she  said:  'In  the  dresser; 
which  drawer  would  you  prefer,  the  upper  or  lower?' 
I  mumbled  'Makes  no  difference  to  me.'  Then  she 
said:  Til  take  the  bottom  one  of  the  two  large 
drawers.  Which  of  the  two  little  ones  do  you  want?' 
I  answered,  'I  don't  care.'  So  she  began  putting  her 
little  trinkets  in  the  left  one.  When  she  went  to 
hang  up  her  dresses  she  demanded:  'Which  end  of 
the  closet  would  you  rather  have?'  Of  course  I 
laughed.  'Which  you  please.'  She  turned  toward 
me  quickly  and  said:  'When  you  leave  it  to  me  to 
decide  politeness  requires  me  to  appropriate  the 
least  desirable  part,'  and  I  returned:  'I  don't  see 
why.  If  I  cared  to  choose,  I  would  take  the  part  I 
preferred,'  and  she  answered  back:  'Well,  I'm  a 
lady,'  I  felt  kind  o'  annoyed  at  that  remark,  but  only 


GRANDMOTHER  179 

said:  'Last  year  we  had  everything  in  common,  and 
even  wore  each  other's  clothes.'  She  looked  at  me 
with  those  wide-open  eyes  again,  and  spoke  more 
mildly:  'You  were  generous,  for  your  clothes  are 
very  handsome;  but  there  is  a  personality  about  my 
things  peculiar  to  myself  alone.  1  can't  make  it 
common  property!'  About  that  time  I  wanted  to 
sink  through  the  floor,"  said  Sarah,  smiling. 

"She  seemed  to  be  fair  about  everything,"  as- 
serted Mary. 

"Yes;  she  was  fair  and  straightforward,  and 
thought  she  was  doing  the  square  thing.  But  when 
she  came  to  dividing  the  wall,  and  having  her  Titian 
and  Tintoretto  and  Carlo  Dolci  on  one  side  and  my 
little  photograph  gallery — pictures  of  nearly  every 
boy  and  girl  in  college — on  the  other  side,  it  struck 
me  as  ridiculous.  So  I  asserted  myself,  saying: 
'Look  here,  Miss  Harding,  I  don't  believe  we  can  be 
very  happy  together.  What  do  you  think?'  She 
cooly  replied:  'That  depends  altogether  upon  you. 
I  am  satisfied.  Our  room  is  large,  and  we  have  a 
fine  view  of  the  campus  from  the  little  balcony  under 
our  window.' 

"But  I  won't  contend  with  any  one,  and  I  knew 
she  would  have  her  own  way  in  everything.  Besides, 
there's  a  congenial  little  girl  in  No.  16;  so  I've  asked 
to  go  over  there.  Miss  Harding  will  sit  at  your 
table,  Miss  Farnam,  and  she's  a  beauty.  Looks  like 
she  might  be  the  daughter  of  an  Italian  king."  Sarah 
Runyan  completed  her  narrative  as  the  last  bell  an- 
nounced dinner. 

"How  old  is  Miss  Harding?"  inquired  Varena. 

"I  should  think  she  was  a  year  or  two  older  than 
you  are,"  replied  Sarah.  "I  think  I'll  have  to  intro- 
duce your  brothers  to  her.  Horace  says  the  boys 
are  wild  about  her  already.  Ralph,  lucky  as  usual, 
carried  her  valise  from  the  train  to  the  hack,  and 
says  she's  just  the  girl  for  Russell.  Well,  I  hope 


i8o  GRANDMOTHER 

the  dinner  is  good.    I'm  hungry.    Come  over  to  No. 
1 6  sometimes." 

The  young  women  in  the  dining-hall  were  on  the 
qui  vive  with  interest  over  the  entrance  of  the  new 
potentialities  of  the  junior  class.  It  was  recognized 
at  once  that  the  new  members  would  constitute  cen- 
tres around  which  everything  of  interest  would  cir- 
culate during  the  year.  Which  would  have  the 
stronger  following,  could  not  yet  be  conjectured. 
One  thing  alone  was  evident  as  the  fixed  stars :  each 
in  her  separate  sphere  would  form  a  nucleus  around 
which  other  orbs  revolve;  but  no  influence  could 
cause  their  personalities  to  blend  or  join  forces.  Like 
Mars  and  Venus,  one  was  a  compelling  energy,  the 
other  a  winning  power;  equally  beautiful,  in  distin- 
guishable types;  equally  brilliant  in  diversified  forms; 
equally  lovable  by  different  characters. 

Without  prearrangement,  Eleanor  Harding  and 
Varena  Farnam  were  seated  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
table  at  the  right  of  the  teachers,  who  occupied  the 
end  seats.  There  were  fourteen  juniors  in  the  class. 
Twelve  were  old  girls,  who  regarded  the  addition  to 
their  number  with  varying  emotions.  The  generous 
felt  a  pride  in  the  new  element;  the  selfish,  envious; 
the  phlegmatic,  curious.  Eleanor  and  Varena  each 
recognized  the  strong  personality  of  the  other  and 
marked  her  for  a  rival.  The  former  simulated  an 
indifference  to  her  competitor;  while  the  latter,  care- 
fully analyzed  her  opponent  in  every  feature,  article 
of  dress,  coil  of  hair,  poise  of  head,  and  contour  as 
a  whole,  with  the  result  that  she  was  satisfied  with 
herself  and  glad  that  she  possessed  the  fair  complex- 
ion and  golden  hair  of  her  grandmother. 

Two  days  intervened  before  the  momentous  first 
Sunday.  This  was  the  crucial  event  in  the  beginning 
of  the  year,  this  first  church  service.  The  minister's 
test,  developed  as  a  homiletic  sermon  or  a  practical 
talk,  was  of  minor  importance.  Even  the  music,  or- 


GRANDMOTHER  181 

dinarily  an  enjoyable  part  of  the  service,  was  ignored 
in  the  interest  of  grading  the  charms  and  calibre  of 
the  new  students.  The  most  perfect  toilet  that 
money  and  taste  could  afford  was  to  be  seen;  for 
the  dress  worn  on  this  occasion  might  have  a  more 
vital  influence  on  the  future  than  the  elaborate  party 
gown  hereafter. 

Standing  before  the  mirror  in  her  room,  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet,  Varena  saw  over 
her  shoulder  that  Mary  Baker  was  sitting  quietly 
reading,  and  she  asked : 

"Aren't  you  going  to  dress  for  church?  You  will 
be  late." 

"I  am  dressed,"  said  Mary,  naively. 

"Have  you  no  church  dress?"  Varena  asked  in 
surprise. 

"I  have  only  this  one  suit.  I  can't  afford  another 
this  year.  I'm  living  on  borrowed  money,"  and 
Mary  went  on  reading. 

"Why,  that's  too  bad,"  pondered  Varena. 

Mary  misinterpreted  her  tone,  and,  feeling  that 
Varena  was  ashamed  of  her,  reminded  her  that  they 
need  not  walk  together.  "You  can  walk  with  one 
of  the  other  girls,  I'll  not  feel  hurt." 

"Mary,"  said  Varena,  "if  you  had  a  friend  who 
liked  you  awfully  well  and  asked  a  favor  of  you, 
would  you  grant  it?" 

"Sure,  if  I  could,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 

"Well,  I'm  that  friend,  and  I  want  you  to  wear 
my  blue  silk  dress,"  said  Varena,  smiling. 

Mary  clasped  her  hands  in  one  moment  of  ecstasy, 
then  dropped  them  in  her  lap,  and,  laughing  quaintly, 
said:  "I  can't  do  that.  I'd  feel  like  a  fish  out  of 
water  and  would  act  as  awkward ;  but  I  do  appreciate 
your  asking  me  to  wear  it." 

"Then  wear  my  brown  Henrietta-cloth.  That  will 
not  feel  fine,  and  it's  just  the  color  of  your  eyes.  Do, 
please ;  try  it  on,"  Varena  urged. 


1 82  GRANDMOTHER 

"What  would  your  brothers  think  of  seeing  me  in 
your  dress?"  asked  Mary,  hesitating. 

"They  would  not  know  it  was  mine.  There  are 
so  many  suits  alike,"  pleaded  Varena. 

Mary  was  sorely  tempted,  but  still  hesitated. 
"The  girls  would  recognize  it  when  they  see  you 
in  it." 

"But  I  shall  not  be  seen  in  it.  If  it  fits  you  nicely, 
it  is  yours.  I  don't  need  it." 

"No!  no!"  objected  Mary.  "I  can't  let  you  do 
that." 

"Grandmother  would  want  me  to  divide  with  you. 
She  always  made  us  divide  with  our  friends.  So  if 
you  don't  take  it,  I  shall  give  it  to  the  chambermaid. 
If  you  don't  hurry,  we'll  be  late." 

Mary  let  herself  be  dressed;  and,  as  the  suit  was 
adjusted  to  her  slim  figure,  her  face  underwent  a 
curious  change.  The  eyes  grew  brighter,  the  cheeks 
took  on  a  deeper  tinge  of  red,  the  little  dimples 
deepened,  and  the  lips  softened. 

"O  you  are  lovely!"  gushed  Varena.  "How 
about  a  hat?  I  don't  want  to  give  you  my  brown 
one.  I  need  it  with  my  brown  silk;  but  your  black 
one  won't  do.  Where  is  that  little  brown  turban  you 
wear  for  common?  Here's  an  extra  brown  plume 
I  can  pin  around  it — that's  lovely.  Don't  push  it  so 
far  back.  Let  a  little  hair  show  on  your  forehead. 
That's  it.  Hurry,  there's  the  last  bell.  O,  you're 
a  peach;  but  you  haven't  any  gloves." 

"Yes;  I  have  some  lisle  thread  gloves,  and  it's 
fortunate  for  you  that  you  have  a  small  hand,  so 
you  can't  make  me  put  on  your  gloves."  She 
laughed  merrily,  surprised  at  her  own  delight. 

When  they  reached  the  hall  where  the  girls  were 
collecting,  preparatory  to  forming  in  line,  she  felt 
very  uncomfortable  in  her  consciousness  of  their  sur- 
prise and  comments.  But  on  the  street  and  in  the 
church,  she  was  forced  to  feel  gratified;  for  she  could 


GRANDMOTHER  183 

not  fail  to  see  that  she  had  made  a  pleasant  impres- 
sion. Old  acquaintances  smiled  more  cordially,  and 
strangers  appeared  interested. 

It  is  the  perfect  dressing  that  brings  out  the  bril- 
liance of  the  diamond;  it  is  the  proper  setting  that 
enhances  the  value  of  the  gem.  It  is  the  exception 
when  the  master  mind  and  noble  soul  are  found  in 
modest  rags.  The  gem  may  be  there,  enjoying  the 
comforting  knowledge  of  its  own  existence,  but  lost 
to  the  world;  unless,  by  chance  or  purpose,  it  is  dug 
out  and  clothed  in  the  polish  of  advanced  civilization. 
By  a  subconscious  knowledge  of  human  nature,  Va- 
rena  Farnam  had  discovered  a  peari,  and,  with  a 
little  unselfishness,  she  had  taken  it  from  its  clumsy 
shell  and  placed  it  in  a  frame  where  its  beauty  would 
be  appreciated.  She  was  so  occupied  in  watching 
Mary  in  her  bashfulness,  and  enjoying  the  impres- 
sion that  she  was  making  on  the  students,  that  she 
was  wholly  unconscious  of  the  sensation  that  her 
own  appearance  had  produced,  and  happily  ignor- 
ant of  the  malevolent  glances  of  another  aspirant 
for  popularity. 

Temperament  was  in  evidence.  In  the  flashing 
eyes  and  imperial  brow  of  Eleanor  Harding,  an  iras- 
cible, choleric  temperament  indicated  unexplored 
regions  of  adventures  and  dangers  dear  to  the  stu- 
dent's heart.  The  ardent,  sanguine  temperament 
of  Varena  Farnam  held  not  such  dazzling  tempta- 
tions, but  being  the  sister  of  two  popular  boys, 
made  the  scales  balance  evenly;  and  opinion  was  di- 
vided as  to  which  should  rank  highest.  Should  the 
brunette  or  blonde  beauty  be  the  dulcinea  for  whom 
the  prizes  should  be  won — the  goal  attained? 

As  months  passed  and  the  humanities  were  assidu- 
ously conned,  religious  duties  and  social  functions 
enjoyed,  the  students  of  both  seminary  and  college 
slowly  awoke  to  the  fact  that  they  were  disappointed 
in  the  two  stars  that  had  promised  a  season  of  ex- 


1 84  GRANDMOTHER 

cltement.  Instead  of  igneous  meteors,  they  were 
simply  luminous.  Their  brilliancy  caused  no  con- 
flagration of  rivalry;  for  each  shone  in  a  different 
sphere.  Eleanor  cared  very  little  for  the  girls,  and 
the  boys  held  only  a  small  place  in  Varena's 
thoughts.  Consequently  their  attitude  toward  each 
other  was  cordial,  and  continued  so  throughout  the 
first  year. 

They  often  went  to  the  parlor  together  to  meet 
the  brothers,  when  they  called  on  the  regular  re- 
ception evenings.  Horace  Runyan,  calling  on  his 
sister  at  the  same  time,  brought  the  six  into  very  cor- 
dial acquaintance.  Varena  was  unaware  of  a 
scheme  between  Sarah  and  Ralph,  to  bring  Russell 
under  the  infatuating  influence  of  Eleanor's  charms. 
She  had  been  a  little  annoyed  at  their  forcing  a  priv- 
ate tete-a-tete  on  them  occasionally;  but,  as  Eleanor 
did  not  acquiesce  with  interest,  she  passed  the  matter 
over  lightly,  and  unselfishly  lent  herself  to  the  task 
of  entertaining  and  developing  Horace. 

The  students  that  remained  in  Danboro  during 
the  spring  vacation  clubbed  together  and  entertained 
themselves  with  a  fancy  dress  party.  The  parlors  and 
dining-hall  of  the  seminary  were  fantastically  decora- 
ted, and  many  designs  out  of  the  ordinary  were  de- 
Veloped.  With  some  secrecy,  the  various  costumes 
were  conjured;  and,  on  the  eventful  night  there 
appeared  nymphs,  oreads,  ghosts,  gods  and  god- 
desses. Well-known  characters,  from  Shakespeare 
to  Uncle  Tom,  were  personated.  Sarah  Runyan 
dressed  as  a  Japanese  princess  and  her  roommate  as 
blind  Nidia  with  a  basket  of  flowers.  Eleanor  Hard- 
ing represented  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  Her  gown  was 
of  filmy  white,  the  whole  figure  draped  in  a  gorgeous 
robe  embroidered  in  gold;  on  her  head  was  a  crown 
of  pearls,  and  she  carried  gifts  of  perfume  and 
spices.  Her  rival  in  picturesque  interest  was  Mary 
Bakert  whom  Yarena  had  made  most  exquisite  as 


GRANDMOTHER  185 

Aphrodite.  They  had  transformed  a  divan  into  a 
large  sea  shell,  and,  cuddling  down  in  her  soft,  fluffy 
gown,  under  a  halo  of  her  own  natural  modesty, 
Mary  was  ravishingly  bewitching.  In  valuation  of 
the  adage,  "Beauty  unadorned,  adorned  the  most," 
Varena  appeared  in  the  quaint,  prim  costume  of  Pris- 
cilla.  Through  the  scheming  of  Sarah  and  Ralph, 
the  girls  were  supplemented  by  Russell  coming  as 
King  Solomon,  Horace  Runyan  as  John  Alden,  and 
Ralph  himself  as  Jupiter.  The  professor  of  music, 
assisting  the  chaperon  of  the  evening,  came  as  Miles 
Standish.  Ambitious  to  sustain  their  parts  credit- 
ably, they  had  studied  the  characters,  hunted  up  leg- 
ends, committed  poetry,  and  prepared  special  music. 

"Am  I  all  right?"  said  Horace  Runyan,  aside  to 
his  sister. 

"Of  course  you  are,  if  you  will  hide  your  self- 
consciousness,"  she  answered. 

"I  feel  so  stiff,"  said  the  boy. 

"You  don't  look  it.  Forget  yourself  and  go  in 
for  a  jolly  good  time.  Russell  and  Eleanor  make 
a  royal  pair,  don't  they?"  commented  Sarah. 

"What  made  the  music-teacher  dress  as  Miles 
Standish?  He'll  be  wanting  to  talk  to  Priscilla," 
Horace  fretted. 

"If  Professor  doesn't  lose  his  heart  to  Mary 
Baker  to-night,  he  never  will,"  said  Varena,  coming 
near.  "Isn't  she  lovely?" 

"I  hope  he  will,"  Sarah  replied.  "Horace  is 
worrying  for  fear  he'll  monopolize  you,  and  John 
Alden  will  be  neglected." 

"But  Priscilla  preferred  John  Alden,"  said  Va- 
rena, smiling. 

"Come  then,  Priscilla,  and  sing  him  a  song, 
please,"  urged  Horace,  blushing. 

"If  you  wish  a  thing  to  be  well  done,  you  must 
do  it  yourself,  John,"  Varena  quoted. 

"I  can't  sing,"  replied  Horace,  embarrassed. 


1 86  GRANDMOTHER 

"Why  don't  you  reply,  'modest  and  sweet,  the 
very  type  of  Priscilla,'  "  laughed  Sarah. 

"You  know  I  can't  quote  poetry,  Sister,"  the 
bashful  boy  answered. 

"Never  mind,  'Horace.  The  people  are  having 
too  good  a  time  to  listen  to  me  sing,"  Varena  sug- 
gested. 

"Just  an  old  folk-song,"  urged  Horace,  not  know- 
ing what  more  to  say. 

"You  don't  know  a  folk-song  from  any  other," 
teased  his  sister. 

"A  folk-song  is  a  pretty  melody  that  most  any 
one  can  sing,  with  a  few  common  chords  that  any 
one  can  play,"  returned  Horace. 

"Prove  it,"  laughed  Sarah.  "Give  us  an  illustra- 
tion." 

The  boy  turned  to  the  piano,  and,  striking  some 
strong  chords,  sang:  "  'We  won't  go  home  till 
morning,'  "  his  rich  bass  voice  filling  the  room  reso- 
nantly. 

"I'm  proud  of  you,  boy.  That  melody  was  sung 
before  the  first  crusade  to 'the  Holy  Land.  To-day, 
it's  sung  in  England  to  the  words,  'He's  a  Jolly  Good 
Fellow,'  "  said  Sarah. 

"We'll  practise  the  American  version  to-night," 
laughed  Ralph. 

"Classic  music,"  said  the  Professor,  leaving  the 
divan  where  Aphrodite  was  ensconced,  and,  joining 
the  group  at  the  piano,  "embraces  folk-song  and 
vastly  more.  That  little  melody  is  in  Beethoven's 
'battle  of  Vittorai.'  I  am  very  fond  of  classic 
music." 

"We  can't  rightly  appreciate  classic  music  until 
the  faculties  of  the  mind  and  ear  have  been  trained 
to  grasp  the  musical  idea,"  observed  Russell. 

"We  enjoy  folk-song  with  the  first  sound  of  grand- 
mother's voice,"  said  Varena,  smiling. 

"But  everybody,  surely,  can  enjoy  the  marvellous 


GRANDMOTHER  187 

productions  of  a  virtuoso  like  Rubenstein?"  Sarah 
Runyan  stated. 

"But  the  degree  of  enjoyment  is  measured  by  pre- 
vious cultivation  and  familiarity,"  insisted  Russell. 

"The  value  of  a  piece  of  music  is  evinced  by  its 
permanence."  asserted  Professor  Clayton. 

"Then  that  old  piece  'The  Shepherd  Boy  is  valu- 
able. No  one  ever  tires  of  hearing  it,"  Varena  sug- 
gested. "Play  it,  Russell,  please." 

"Grieg  wrote  one  'Shepherd  Boy'  and  MacDowel 
another,"  began  the  music-teacher. 

"But  this  old  one  is  the  sweetest  of  all,  Varena 
insisted,  "and  it  isn't  classic.  Is  it?" 

"I'm  burdened  with  too  much  royalty.  King  bolp- 
mon  never  played  a  musical  instrument  regaled  in 
this  style  of  dress,"  Russell  announced. 

"Let  me  hold  your  robe,  please,"  suggested  Elea- 
nor Harding,  coming  forward. 

When  Russell  took  the  seat  before  the  piano  Pro- 
fessor Clayton  turned  to  seek  Mary  Baker,  and 
scowled  at  Ralph,  who  was  bringing  the  blushes  to 
her  cheeks  by  his  pretty  compliments.  Soon,  the 
peculiar  magnetism  of  the  young  man's  music  thrilled 
the  listeners;  and,  when  the  last  little  trill  and  run 
was  lost  in  the  distance,  the  joy  and  tender  ecstasy 
of  the  shepherd's  soul  throbbed  in  their  hearts. 

"How  can  an  ignorant  fellow  like  me  decide  be- 
tween classic  and  common  music?"  Horace  asked. 
"Now,  I  like  that  kind  of  music,  and  you  said  it 
wasn't  classic."  .  ,, 

"Don't  confound  folk-song  with  common  music, 
said  Eleanor  Harding.     "Common  music  includes 
popular  sentimental  pieces  that  are  worn  out  in  one 
season  and  forgotten  the  next." 

"Folk-song  has  existed  since  'the  morning  stars 
sang  together  at  the  dawn  of  creation,'  '  Varena 
added. 

"Classic  music  contains  many  folk-songs,     began 


i88  GRANDMOTHER 

Professor  Clayton.  "Bach,  in  his  'St.  Matthew's 
Passion,'  took  the  love  song  of  Hassler,  'My  Spirit 
Is  Distracted,'  and  enriched  it  with  noble  counter- 
point." 

"Didn't  we  sing  it  in  church  last  Sunday?"  asked 
Eleanor.  "  'O  Sacred  Head  Now  Wounded.'  That 
is  Bach,  isn't  it?" 

The  Professor  assented,  adding:  "And  Beetho- 
ven has  a  folk-song  in  his  'Seventh  Symphony.'  An- 
tonin  Dvorak  has  carried  Bohemian  music  over  the 
world.  Liszt  has  taken  the  songs  of  the  Gypsies  and 
given  them  in  his  'Rhapsodies'  in  the  highest,  most 
difficult  form.  Brahms  has  enriched  Hungarian 
folk-song  with  exquisite  harmony.  Mendelssohn  in 
his  'Scotch  Symphony,'  in  the  lilting  scherzo,  has 
created  a  Scottish  theme  that  is  a  joy  to  every  Scotch- 
man; for  it  is  thoroughly  Gaellic  in  spirit.  And  Mo- 
zart in  his  'Magic  Flute' "  He  stopped,  em- 
barrassed; for  his  audience  had  decreased  until  only 
the  sea-shell,  with  its  listening  occupant,  remained. 
Smiling  down  on  Aphrodite,  he  added:  "Floated 
away;  could  the  wave  start  your  bark,  would  you, 
too,  leave  me?" 

"Indeed,  I  was  deeply  interested  in  all  you  were 
saying,"  said  Mary,  blushing.  "I  was  going  to  ask 
you  if  there's  any  American  classic?" 

"The  nation  is  too  young  yet,"  answered  Pro- 
fessor Clayton.  "Some  day,  Foster's  'Old  Kentucky 
Home,'  and  Bullard's  'Stein  Song,'  and  several  of 
Nevin's  pieces,  dressed  by  the  artist,  may  become 
classic." 

"Were  you  talking  about  'Old  Kentucky  Home,' 
Professor?"  asked  Ralph,  bringing  a  crowd  back  to 
the  parlor.  "Call  Russell,  and  let's  all  sing  before 
supper  is  ready." 

Russell  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  filled  the  room 
with  a  volume  of  improvised  variations;  while  the 


GRANDMOTHER  189 

company,  indoors  and  out,  sang  the  beloved  old 
song  with  enthusiasm. 

Supper  being  announced,  the  little  cliques  and  co- 
teries that  were  grouped  in  different  parts  of  the 
room  separated  and  formed  into  couples  to  march 
to  the  dining-hall.  As  Varena  turned  to  her  partner, 
she  suffered  with  a  hurting  in  her  heart  and  a  chok- 
ing in  her  throat.  She  was  not  envious  because  Rus- 
sell, as  King  Solomon,  and  Eleanor,  as  Queen  of 
Sheba,  led  the  procession;  but  hurt,  humiliated,  on 
discovering  that  she  was  a  marionette  in  the  hands  of 
her  friends.  It  was  clear,  now,  that  Ralph  assisted 
by  his  coadjutor,  had  planned  to  give  her  to  Horace 
as  John  Alden,  and  Eleanor  to  Russell,  with  the  ulti- 
mate end  of  a  consummated  affaire  d'amour.  It 
was  some  time  before  she  could  bring  herself  to  be 
courteous  to  the  two  partners  assigned  to  her. 

Ralph  carried  off  Mary  Baker  to  sit  at  the  table 
near  his  brother  and  Eleanor. 

Professor  Clayton  endeavored  to  contest  the  right 
of  John  Alden  to  Priscilla.  Placing  her  chair  be- 
tween them,  he  playfully  quoted:  ''Any  woman 
in  England  might  be  happy  and  proud  to  be  called 
the  wife  of  Miles  Standish.'  ' 

With  an  effort  at  cheerfulness,  Varena  replied: 
"  'Surely,  a  woman's  affection  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
asked  for  and  had  for  only  the  asking.'  ' 

"When  it  comes  to  quoting  poetry,  I'm  not  in  it," 
said  Horace.  "The  poetry  of  living  is  a  good  square 
meal,  as  this  is  going  to  be,"  and  he  assiduously 
served  their  plates  with  every  article  within  his 
reach. 

"If  you  will  visit  the  boys  at  Finden,  Grand- 
mother will  treat  you  to  the  'poetry  of  living,'  as  you 
call  good  things  to  eat,"  Varena  suggested. 

"I  vouch  for  that,"  Professor  Clayton  added. 

"When  were  you  there?"  asked  Horace. 


190  GRANDMOTHER 

"Last  summer,  in  the  interest  of  the  school,"  an- 
swered the  Professor,  indifferently.  He  was  in- 
tently watching  Ralph  and  Mary  Baker. 

Following  his  gaze,  Varena  smiled  significantly 
and  quoted:  "  'When  one  is  truly  in  love,  he  not 
only  says  it  but  shows  it.'  ' 

Professor  Clayton  dropped  his  eyes  to  his  plate 
and  blushed  crimson. 

Varena  continued: 

"  'There  are  moments  in  life  when  the  heart  is  so 

full  of  emotion, 
That  if  by  chance  it  be  broken,  or  into  its  depths 

like  a  pebble 

Drops  some  careless  word,  it  overflows  and  its  secret, 
Spilt  on  the  ground  like  water,  can  never  be  gathered 

together.'  ' 
f 

Lifting  his  empty  glass  to  call  the  attention  of  the 
servant,  Horace  quoted:  "'Water,  water  every- 
where, and  not  a  drop  to  drink.'  But  that's  not 
from  'Miles  Standish,'  is  it?  'Life  is  real,  life  is 
earnest,'  that's  Longfellow,  anyway. 

The  three  laughed  heartily,  and  the  tension,  which 
had  been  strained,  was  relieved,  and  a  sympathetic 
understanding  formed  between  Varena  and  her 
teacher.  By  mutual  consent,  Mary  Baker  became 
the  subject  of  conversation  during  the  remainder  of 
the  meal,  until  Professor  Clayton  abruptly  asked: 

"Why  is  it,  Miss  Varena,  that  you  are  so  wholly 
indifferent  to  the  young  men?  We  rarely  find  a 
pupil  of  your  age  and  attraction  who  is  not  ambitious 
and  proud  of  the  admiration  of  the  college  stu- 
dents." 

"Indeed,  I  should  feel  gratified  to  know  that  I 
was  appreciated  by  the  boys.  Further  than  that,  I 
do  not  care ;  for  my  brother  and  I  are  going  to  travel, 


GRANDMOTHER  191 

to  study,  and  see  the  world  together.  It  is  the  deep- 
est desire  of  my  soul.  I  hope  no  alien  influence  will 
come  to  mar  our  future.  I  have  visions  of  a  life 
full  of  blessedness  and  peace.  When,  where,  how? 
I  can  not  penetrate  the  maze." 

"Does  your  brother  entertain  the  same  views 
about  your  future?"  the  Professor  inquired  kindly. 

"I'm  sure  he  feels  as  I  do,  though  we  do  not  talk 
about  it,"  said  Varena,  softly. 

"You  are  young,  my  little  girl."  The  Professor 
looked  into  her  serious  eyes.  "When  the  right  one 
storms  the  citadel,  you  will  forget  all  about  your 
brother  and  your  travels.  It  may  be  better  for  your 
peace  of  mind  to  force  yourself  to  think  that  he,  too, 
may  have  all  his  plans  changed  by  some  dark  beauty. 
You  may  be  mistaken  in  your  mission.  You  have 
the  charming  characteristics  of  the  home-maker,  the 
lovableness  of  the  wife  and  mother.  Listen  to  the 
advice  of  your  friend  and  come  down  from  your 
celestial  air-castles." 

Smiling,  but  serious,  Varena  replied  with  another 
quotation  from  "Miles  Standish." 

"  'This  is  not  right,  is  not  just,  is  not  true  to  the 
best  that  is  in  you; 

For  I  know  and  esteem  you,  and  feel  that  your  na- 
ture is  noble, 

Lifting  mine  up  to  a  higher,  a  more  ethereal  level. 

Therefore  I  value  your  friendship,  and  feel  it  per- 
haps and  more  keenly 

If  you  say  aught  that  implies  I  am  only  as  one 
among  many, 

If  you  make  use  of  those  common  and  complimentary 
phrases 

Most  men  think  so  fine,  in  dealing  and  speaking 
with  women, 

But  which  women  reject  as  insipid,  if  not  as  insult- 
ing.' 


192  GRANDMOTHER 

"The  last  line  is  too  strong,  Professor,  and  only 
partially  applicable  to  you.  Indeed,  I  appreciate 
your  advice;  but  you  do  not  understand." 

Seated  between  Russell  and  Ralph  Farnam,  with 
Mary  Baker  and  Sarah  Runyan  and  her  partner  vis- 
a-vis, Eleanor  Harding  was  in  the  seventh  heaven 
of  delight.  Her  equivocal  relations  with  the  broth- 
ers added  zest  and  poignancy  to  the  situation.  Rus- 
sell was  polite  and  serious;  Ralph,  attentive  and  enig- 
matical; Mary  interested,  and  Sarah  enthusiastic; 
and,  altogether,  they  hung  on  her  words  and  looks 
for  entertainment  and  pleasure.  The  atmosphere 
was  pregnant  with  fellow  feeling;  sentiment,  con- 
tagious; propinquity,  dangerous.  The  subjects  of 
conversation  were  diversified,  but  always  drifted  back 
to  music,  because  that  was  the  theme  most  pleasing 
to  Russell. 

"That  was  a  pretty  thought  of  Sister's,"  said 
Ralph,  "that  'music  originated  when  "the  star's  sang 
together  at  the  dawn  of  creation".'  ' 

"It  was  re-echoed  through  the  spheres,  and  caught 
by  the  elements  of  earth.  The  birds  took  it  up,  and 
the  winds  formed  aeolian  harps  among  the  trees," 
said  Eleanor. 

"The  katydids  and  bumblebees  learned  the  tune 
and  the  frogs  croaked  their  bass  solos,"  Ralph 
added. 

"The  brooks  caught  the  magic  of  the  melody  as 
they  kissed  the  pretty  pebbles  along  the  bank,"  con- 
tinued Eleanor. 

"Music  is  the  offspring  of  love,"  Russell  retorted. 
Eleanor  blushed,  and  Ralph  pressed  her  hand  under 
the  table. 

"Written  music,"  Russell  resumed  "originated  in 
the  desire  to  preserve  the  melody  of  the  hymns  that 
were  sung  by  the  early  Christians.  In  the  union  of 
the  soul  with  the  Christ,  the  song  of  thanksgiving 
was  begotten  in  the  heart." 


GRANDMOTHER  193 

"But  there  was  an  effort  made  to  copy  and  pre- 
serve it  before  the  Christian  era.  Wasn't  there?" 
Sarah  asked. 

"Perhaps,"  assented  Russell;  "though  there's  no 
record  made  of  Deborah  and  Barak's  'Song  of  Tri- 
umph,' or  Miriam's  'Rejoicing  over  the  Destruction 
of  Pharaoh  and  His  Host,'  or  the  'Funeral  Dirge 
Over  the  Death  of  Samson,'  or  the  'Requim  for  Saul 
and  Jonathan.'  Music  seems  to  be  co-existent  with 
the  Creator." 

"You're  familiar  with  musical  history,"  said 
Sarah.  "But  I  don't  think  we're  indebted  to  sacred 
love  for  all  our  good  music.  The  divinity  enthroned 
in  the  heart  of  the  composer,  inspired  many  a  master- 
piece. If  Professor  Clayton  doesn't  produce  a  new 
song,  after  hovering  over  the  goddess  of  love  to- 
night, he  lacks  the  soul  of  the  artist." 

Mary  Baker  blushed,  and  Ralph  added:  "One 
has  to  be  both  poet  and  musician  to  do  justice  to 
Aphrodite." 

"The  Greeks  have  a  mythological  origin  for 
music,"  said  Mary.  "The  legend  tells  of  the  god, 
Pan,  loving  a  nymph,  who  fled  from  his  ardent 
demonstrations;  and,  being  stopped  by  a  stream  of 
water,  she  prayed  to  be  transformed  into  the  reeds 
that  grow  along  the  bank.  Pan,  pursuing,  caught 
the  reed  in  his  arms,  and,  breathing  on  them  in  his 
embrace,  they  gave  forth  plaintive  tones,  and  music 
has  ever  since  been  associated  with  Pan's  pipes." 

"Hereafter,"  said  Ralph,  "when  I'm  hungry  for 
music,  I'll  follow  the  example  set  by  the  little  god 
of  shepherds.  Perhaps  he's  the  boy  of  your  piece, 
Russ." 

"I've  heard  the  'wisdom  of  Solomon'  and  the 
mythology  of  the  Greeks;  but  'the  half  has  not  been 
told,'  "  said  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  smiling;  "for  the 
Japanese  Princess  has  yet  to  account  for  the  queer 
music  in  the  land  of  the  Mikado." 


194  GRANDMOTHER 

"They  have  a  legend  that  makes  a  deity  the  author 
of  music,"  began  Sarah.  "Amaterasu  Ohongami 
was  a  beautiful  creature,  who,  one  morning,  issued 
from  the  eye  of  her  father,  Izanagi,  while  he  was 
bathing  in  the  sea.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  be- 
ing living;  but,  one  day,  some  young  gods  twitted 
her  because  she  had  wrapped  garlands  of  seaweed 
about  her  lovely  body,  and  she  shut  herself  up  in 
a  gloomy  cavern.  Eight  million  gods " 

"No;  nine  million,"  interrupted  Ralph. 

"Eight  million,"  continued  Sarah.  "Just  eight 
million  gods  and  goddesses  implored  the  beautiful 
creature  to  come  out.  She  resisted  every  appeal  un- 
til Futadama  and  Udsume " 

"Who?"  Ralph  interrupted,  laughingly. 

"Udsume  and  Futadama,"  repeated  Sarah,  "hit 
on  a  novel  scheme.  One  built  a  huge  mirror  and 
placed  it  before  the  cave.  The  other  bent  to  the 
ground  the  branches  of  a  tree,  and  strung  thongs 
of  seaweed  from  limb  to  trunk.  From  these,  he 
plucked  strange  sounds  such  as  had  never  been  heard 
before.  The  lovely  Amaterasu  came  in  wonderment 
to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  to  hear  more  clearly  the 
marvellous  sounds;  but,  when  she  saw  her  own  image 
in  the  mirror,  she  flew  into  a  passion  of  rage,  that 
any  one  should  be  as  beautiful  as  she,  and  ran  out 
of  the  cavern.  The  successful  gods  rolled  huge 
bowlders  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  pacified  the 
angry  beauty  by  teaching  her  to  pluck  the  thongs  of 
the  new  harp." 

"We  have  almost  finished  our  supper  during  your 
narrative,"  said  Mary  Baker. 

"One  of  you  should  entertain  me  now  for  a  few 
minutes,"  Sarah  replied. 

"An  interesting  characteristic  of  the  peculiar  mu- 
sic of  the  Japanese  is  the  manner  in  which  they  con- 
vey to  each  other  the  actualities  of  life,"  began  Rus- 
sell. "It  is  not  based  upon  the  combination  of 


GRANDMOTHER  195 

sounds,  but  upon  the  relative  positions  of  symbols 
and  signs  as  they  appear  in  the  notation  of  music. 
It  is  an  intricate  study.  Americans  are  as  unable 
to  grasp  it  as  Japanese  are  loath  to  learn  from  us. 
I  have  studied  the  subject,  thinking  I  may  some  day 
be  in  a  position  to  try  to  teach  music  to  the  natives." 

"Don't  wait  for  me,"  said  Sarah.  "The  others 
have  finished  and  are  getting  ready  for  the  games. 
Here  comes  Professor  Clayton.  I'll  excuse  you, 
Mary;  but  I  must  finish  my  cream  and  cake." 

"Priscilla  prefers  John  Alden,  and  I  have  come 
to  find  a  partner  for  the  promenade,  Miss  Mary," 
said  the  Professor,  offering  his  arm  to  Mary. 

"Excuse  me?"  she  asked  of  Ralph,  and,  with 
quickening  pulse,  accompanied  her  friend  to  the  ver- 
anda, where  the  music  was  in  full  blast. 

"I'm  sorry  Professor  Clayton  has  put  you  off  on 
me,  Miss  Varena;  for  I'm  poor  company,"  said 
Horace. 

"I  asked  him  to  go  where  his  inclinations  were 
drawing,"  Varena  replied,  "and  if  you  desire,  I'll 
excuse  you." 

"No,  no,"  stammered  Horace.  "The  fact  of  the 
business  is,  I  feel  so  uncomfortable  in  these  prim 
clothes  and  slippers  that  I  can't  act  decent.  If  Sister 
had  let  me  wear  my  baseball  suit,  or  played  Buffalo 
Bill,  I  would  have  been  in  my  natural  element." 

"You  are  as  interesting  as  any  one,"  encouraged 
Varena.  "A  good  listener  is  more  desirable  than  a 
tame  talker,  or  even  a  good  conversationalist  who 
monopolizes." 

"Well,  I  can  listen,"  said  Horace,  relieved  that 
he  was  not  considered  wholly  a  failure. 

The  grounds  were  lighted  with  Japanese  lanterns, 
and  in  cozy  corners  on  the  veranda  were  tables  for 
games.  The  moon  was  sufficiently  bright  to  permit 
of  the  more  active  sports  of  quoits  and  croquet. 
Horace  and  Varena  won  several  games  and  resigned 


196  GRANDMOTHER 

their  mallets  to  others,  as  Professor  Clayton  and 
Mary  Baker  approached  them. 

"What  have  you  done  with  Venus,  Aphrodite?" 
asked  Varena. 

"He  has  forsaken  me  for  a  princess,"  was  the 
reply. 

"And  Venus  has  stooped  to  console  a  poor  mor- 
tal," added  Professor  Clayton. 

"We  haven't  seen  Solomon  and  his  queen  since  we 
came  outside,"  said  Horace.  "Nor  Sister  and 
Ralph;  the  four  are  always  together." 

"I'd  like  to  find  them,"  said  Varena,  succinctly. 

"Shall  we  help  you?"  the  Professor  asked. 

"Thank  you.  We  might  make  the  promenade  en- 
tirely around  the  building,  you  going  one  way  and 
we  the  other,"  Varena  suggested. 

"And  trill  when  they're  found,"  added  Mary. 

They  separated  and  followed  the  walks  in  and 
out  through  the  shrubbery  and  around  the  grounds, 
each  listening  in  vain  for  the  other  to  trill. 

"  'This  is  the  crisis  of  his  fate.'  If  she  does  not 
make  an  impression  to-night,  we  may  as  well  give  it 
up,"  said  Ralph  to  Sarah. 

"I've  thrown  them  together  under  the  most  favor- 
able allurements;  but  there  is  no  affinity.  She  is 
not  his  type,"  Sarah  replied. 

"You're  the  best  coadjutor  I  could  have  had. 
And  it  beats  me,"  said  Ralph.  "She's  beautiful." 

"Yes,"  assented  Sarah. 

"She's  smart,"  Ralph  continued. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Sarah. 

"She's  an  excellent  musician  and  a  sweet  singer," 
added  Ralph. 

"His  ears  are  full  of  wax.  She  is  not  the  siren 
whose  songs  he  hears,"  Sarah  announced. 

"Seems  to  me  that  she  has  all  the  qualifications 
that  a  man  like  Russ  would  demand,"  urged  Ralph. 


GRANDMOTHER  197 

"He  disapproves  of  a  coquette,"  began  Sarah. 

"Not  the  kind  she  is,"  Ralph  interrupted.  "She 
makes  men  adore  her  and  keeps  them  at  arm's 
length.  That  ought  to  satisfy  Russ.  He  has  a  no- 
tion that  if  a  girl  lets  one  boy  kiss  her,  she  will  let 
a  dozen.  I  don't  agree  with  him.  Anyway,  there 
is  no  harm  in  a  friendly  kiss  when  a  little  mouth  is 
bewitchingly  sweet  and  convenient.  Better  than 
strawberries  and  cream." 

Sarah  laughed.  She  was  an  old  girl,  who  had 
been  the  confidant  of  several  brothers  and  their 
chums,  and  knew  human  nature  in  its  purity  and  also 
in  its  waywardness.  She  had  known  Ralph  and  Rus- 
sell for  four  years,  and  had  helped  Ralph  in  many 
little  ways,  rescuing  him  from  several  indiscretions. 

"I  have  made  a  mistake  in  my  diagnosis  if  Elea- 
nor is  in  love  with  Russell;  because  those  apparently 
hard,  cold  girls,  who  enjoy  making  others  suffer, 
have  the  least  control  over  themselves  when  under 
the  influence  of  the  grande  passion.  Has  it  occurred 
to  you  that  we  might  make  Russell  the  victim  of  an 
unreciprocated  attachment?"  Sarah  asked. 

"She  cares  for  him.  I  know  she  does,"  Ralph  de- 
clared. "She  follows  me  around  to  get  to  talk  about 
him.  Why,  I've  seen  her  eyes  sparkle  and  her 
cheeks  flush  when  I  was  telling  some  interesting 
things  about  our  home,  our  dog,  and  Grandmother. 
She  slips  notes  to  me,  and  asks  me  to  meet  her  so 
she  can  talk  about  Flash  and  Russell.  She  thinks 
Flash  is  Russell's  dog." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken.  I  believe  Mary  Baker 
would  please  Russell  better.  Why  do  you  persist 
that  it  must  be  Eleanor?"  argued  Sarah. 

"You  don't  know  Russ,  Miss  Sarah.  He's  deep 
and  slow;  besides,  I  like  Eleanor  tremendously  and 
want  her  for  a  sister-in-law.  Then  I'd  get  to  kiss 
her.  It  would  be  jolly  good  fun  to  tease  her  till 


i98  GRANDMOTHER 

those  black  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  then  to  kiss  her 
into  good  humor,"  Ralph  laughed  ardently. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her  yourself?"  demanded 
Sarah. 

"Me!"  He  smiled  confusedly.  "She  would 
marry  me  about  as  soon  as  you  would." 

"If  I  were  as  young  as  she  is,  and  you  were  as  de- 
voted to  me  as  you  are  to  her,  I  should  not  find  it 
difficult  to  consider  such  a  contingency  favorably. 
You  are  handsomer  than  your  brother;  you  are  as 
good  in  your  studies,  though  not  so  thorough  a  musi- 
cian. Still,  you  are  as  fine  a  specimen  of  the  Ken- 
tucky gentleman." 

Donner  und  blitzen!  but  I  feel  complimented  to 
hear  all  that  from  a  woman  who  is  chary  of  pretty 
speeches." 

"But  you  have  one  serious  fault,"  added  Sarah. 

"Now,  you  spoil  it  all.     What  is  it?" 

"You  are  too  much  of  a  'lady's  man.'  You  will 
always  be  a  little  bit  in  love  with  every  pretty  woman, 
consciously  or  unconsciously  'playing  with  the  affec- 
tions of  chaste  femininity,'  "  averred  Sarah. 

"Thank  you.     Shall  we  follow  the  royal  couple?" 

"We  promised  to  come  at  once.  They  doubtless 
think  we've  forgotten  them.  How  far  is  it?" 

"Not  far  across;  but  we  must  go  around  under 
the  hill,  or  the  crowd  will  see  us  and  maybe  follow 
us,"  stated  Ralph. 

"I  know  it  was  more  from  habit  than  any  precon- 
ceived plan  that  made  Russell  suggest  visiting  his  big 
tree.  We  have  not  been  fair  in  tarrying  so  long," 
said  Sarah. 

They  skirted  the  grove  and  walked  up  by  the 
stream  of  water,  keeping  close  under  the  bank  until 
they  could  see  Russell  and  Eleanor. 

Russell  had  spread  his  royal  robe  on  the  ground 
for  a  throne  for  Eleanor,  and,  with  two  long  sticks 
they  called  sceptres,  they  murdered  pebbles  by  flip- 


GRANDMOTHER  199 

ping  them  into  the  waters,  and  reviewed  historical 
incidents  of  cruel  sovereigns  and  rebellious  subjects. 
When  Eleanor  caught  sight  of  the  delinquents,  she 
ran  to  meet  them. 

With  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  she  cried: 
"I  thought  you  would  never  get  here.  Where  have 
you  been?" 

Very  seriously,  Sarah  replied:  "Ralph  has  been 
proposing  to  me.  Under  those  circumstances  you 
could  not  expect  me  to  hurry." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  Eleanor  asserted  impulsively. 
Then  seeing  Ralph's  embarrassment,  she  drew  her- 
self up  haughtily  and  asked:  "Is  it  true?" 

"You're  not  very  cordial  in  your  congratulations," 
interposed  Sarah,  enjoying  the  situation  immensely. 
"The  truth  is,  he  did  not  think  I  would  be  willing 
to  marry  him,  and  I  told  him  that,  barring  certain 
conditions,  I  would." 

With  a  bitter,  insulting  tone,  Eleanor  began: 
"You  are- " 

Sarah  wisely  interrupted:  "We  were  just  wishing 
that  matters  were  progressing  with  another  couple. 
Ralph  says  the  next  thing  he  most  desires,  is  to  have 
you  for  a  sister-in-law." 

The  surprise  in  Eleanor's  face  was  no  revelation 
to  Sarah,  though  Ralph  was  bewildered.  Eleanor 
essayed  to  speak,  caught  her  breath,  compressed  her 
lips,  and  stood  a  moment  defiant. 

"Everything  is  perfectly  lovely  with  us;  but  we're 
not  going  to  have  it  talked  about  by  the  whole 
school,"  she  said,  and,  leaving  them,  she  ran  back  to 
her  place  by  the  side  of  Russell,  who  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  counting  the  pebbles  in  the  brook. 

"What  did  you  mean,  Miss  Sarah?"  asked  Ralph. 

"To  open  your  eyes,"  replied  Sarah.  "Sit  down 
a  minute.  The  joke  is  too  good  to  be  true." 

"I  don't  see  the  joke.  She  says  it  is  all  right  with 
her  and  Russ,"  Ralph  grumbled, 


200  GRANDMOTHER 

"Aren't  you  glad?"  said  Sarah,  gurgling  with 
suppressed  merriment. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  insisted  Ralph. 

"Aren't  you  glad?     Answer,"  Sarah  persisted. 

"Blamed  if  I  am.  Russ  is  too  cold-hearted  to  ap- 
preciate her,"  acknowledged  Ralph. 

"Why  didn't  you  think  of  that  sooner?"  asked 
Sarah,  laughing. 

"Why  were  you  so  slow  in  deciding  that  Russell 
couldn't  appreciate  Eleanor?  I  suggested  giving 
him  Mary  Baker,"  continued  Sarah. 

"You're  to  blame.  Yes,  you  are  to  blame !"  Ralph 
stared  at  his  companion. 

"Me?  Well!  Sit  down  a  minute  and  let  us  rea- 
son it  out.  They  are  having  a  cozy  time.  See  how 
she  cuddles  over  him,"  continued  Sarah,  mischiev- 
ously. 

"If  you  don't  stop  laughing  I'll  be  tempted  to  do 
something  desperate.  What  did  you  mean  by  mak- 
ing her  think  we  were  engaged?  You  know  you 
wouldn't  marry  me."  Ralph  threw  himself  on  the 
ground  and  covered  his  chagrin  by  pitching  stones 
into  the  river.  "You  wouldn't  be  bothered  with  me 
or  any  other  'lady's  man.' ' 

"I  didn't  really  prevaricate,  you  know.  I  just 
twisted  our  conversation  around  a  little  and  used  it 
to  surprise  her  secret,"  Sarah  defended,  smiling. 

"That  wasn't  necessary;  for  Russ  will  tell  me," 
Ralph  objected. 

"Poor  Russell;  he  will  remain  in  ignorance  while 
I  see  I  must  enlighten  you,  unsophisticated  boy  that 
you  are."  Again  Sarah  choked  down  her  mirth;  for 
she  knew  Eleanor  was  watching  them. 

"Proceed,"  urged  Ralph,  "and  be  serious  for  ten 
minutes." 

"Didn't  you  notice  how  hurt  and  then  how  angry 
she  was?" 


GRANDMOTHER  201 

"No.  I  was  so  surprised  at  what  you  said  that 
I  didn't  notice  anything,"  acknowledged  Ralph. 

"In  all  seriousness,  Ralph,  when  Eleanor  con- 
cluded that  you  were  committed  to  me,  she  deter- 
mined, in  an  instant,  that  I  should  think  that  she 
had  won  Russell.  And  she  will  now  try  to  win  him, 
though  she  has  never  tried  before.  If  you  really 
wish  her  to  succeed,  leave  her  unenlightened  as  to 
the  true  situation  with  us.  If  you  don't  want  to  give 
her  Russell,  go  marry  her  yourself.  You  can  do  it,'* 
Sarah  concluded. 

Ralph  kept  on  throwing  stones  into  the  river. 

"Think  it  over  seriously  and  don't  act  hastily," 
advised  Sarah. 

"It  might  be  a  good  plan  to  leave  it  as  it  is  now, 
until  the  end  of  this  year,  anyway.  I  will  stifle 
this  fool  hurting  in  my  inwards  and  watch  develop- 
ments. Shall  we?"  and  he  extended  his  hand  to 
assist  her  to  her  feet. 

"You  will  not  be  annoyed  if  she  lets  it  get  out 
that  your  fiancee  is  that  old  Sarah  Runyan?"  Sarah 
asked,  seriously. 

"No  affectation  of  modesty,  dear  old  girl.  You 
know  there's  not  a  man  in  Danboro  that  wouldn't 
be  proud  of  the  honor,"  asserted  Ralph. 

"If  you  were  not  among  the  wealthy  yourself,  you 
might  get  the  appellation  'fortune-hunter,'  "  said 
Sarah,  laughing. 

"You're  worth  more  than  your  money,  Miss 
Sarah;  for  you're  the  best  friend  a  fellow  ever  had. 
And  if  you're  willing,  we  will  have  quite  a  bit  of 
fun  before  June.  And — well,  you're  the  only  girl 
I'd  be  engaged  to  and  not "  Ralph  hesitated. 

"Kiss  her,"  finished  Sarah.  "I'll  kiss  you  when 
you're  married.  And,  by  the  way,  I  must  take  Hor- 
ace into  our  secret  and  prevent  his  writing  home. 
They  sent  me  here  to  look  after  him;  it  would  be 


202  GRANDMOTHER 

ridiculous  to  reverse  matters  and  have  him  taking 
care  of  me." 

Russell  rose  to  greet  them  and  offered  his  seat 
on  the  robe  beside  Eleanor  to  Sarah,  and  instinct- 
ively glanced  up  at  the  seminary.  He  pulled  a  little 
white  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  stealthily 
waved  at  a  figure  on  the  balcony,  embarrassed  by 
an  unexplainable  consciousness  of  concealment. 

Ralph  attributed  his  confusion  to  the  interruption 
of  their  tete-a-tete,  and  suggested  returning  to  the 
seminary.  Russell  threw  the  robe  over  his  shoulder 
and  would  have  walked  with  Sarah;  but  Eleanor 
haughtily  intercepted  and  marched  him  ahead  with 
her;  the  others  quietly  followed. 

They  were  not  the  only  ones  who  had  strayed  be- 
yond the  limits  during  the  evening;  so  their  absence 
and  advent  attracted  little  comment. 


Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  year,  Eleanor 
continued  her  devotion  to  Russell  in  an  artful,  clever 
manner.  She  decided  to  do  some  extra  work  in 
Latin,  and  joined  a  class  of  three  whom  Russell  was 
tutoring.  This  gave  her  frequent  occasions  for  quiet 
study  and  conversation  with  her  conscientious,  mat- 
ter-of-fact teacher.  At  the  same  time  she  had  ample 
opportunities  to  cultivate  friends  among  the  students, 
and  securing  for  herself  the  honor  of  being  the  most 
popular  girl  in  school.  Ralph,  she  regarded  with 
disfavor  and  Sarah  Runyan  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt. Yet  she  was  not  happy. 

Eleanor  Harding  had,  by  inheritance,  two  dis- 
tinct natures,  which  were  constantly  at  war  in  her 
soul.  An  ambition  to  be  transcendently  beautiful, 
inexpressibly  gifted,  and  unapproachably  admired, 
contended  with  a  desire  for  aloneness  or  solitariness, 
with  one  deep  abiding  love.  A  will  that  was  law, 
to  which  everything  must  give  way,  was  offset  with 
a.  longing  for  a  master  will  to  subdue  her  own.  With 


GRANDMOTHER  203 

ability  to  conquer  was  strength  to  endure;  with  a 
knowledge  of  power  was  a  feeling  of  abandon.  She 
studied  Russell  Farnam  more  earnestly  than  she 
conned  her  Latin  verbs.  On  leaving  the  recitation- 
room  after  an  hour  of  work  in  which  she  had  put  all 
her  energy  into  a  final  effort  to  awaken  some  sympa- 
thetic interest,  she  looked  into  his  dangerous  brown 
eyes,  her  own  dancing  with  excitement,  and  said: 

"This  is  our  last  lesson." 

"We  may  work  together  next  year,"  he  replied. 

"That  depends."  She  moved  closer  to  him  and 
took  up  their  Latin  reader,  and,  turning  the  leaves 
thoughtfully,  waited.  They  were  alone  in  the  twi- 
light room.  Half  an  hour  later,  she  left  the  recita- 
tion-room with  a  lighter  heart.  She  had  shared  her 
burden  with  a  friend. 

Sarah  Runyan  was  enjoying  her  part  in  the  little 
comedy.  She  independently  laughed  at  the  friends 
who  were  mystified  or  disgusted  with  the  role  she 
was  playing,  as  the  sweetheart  of  a  boy  seven  or  eight 
years  her  junior,  and  exerted  her  influence  to  stimu- 
late Ralph  to  earnest  work  and  higher  achievements, 
and  encouraged  him  in  patiently  waiting  the  consum- 
mation of  the  year's  association.  She  knew  his  heart 
was  aching  under  the  imaginary  happiness  of  his 
brother,  but  rejoiced  in  the  fact  that  it  was  making 
a  better  man  of  him.  He  no  longer  wasted  time  in 
idle  flirtations,  or  neglected  his  studies  to  pen  poems 
to  violet  eyes  and  raven  locks.  He  was  applying 
himself  to  his  books  and  energetically  entering  into 
the  fraternity  contests.  Apathy  and  indifference  gave 
place  to  a  desire  to  excel  in  every  branch.  "Take 
life  as  it  comes  and  enjoy  it  as  it  is,"  was  no  longer  his 
motto.  His  lugubrious  countenance  amused  Sarah; 
for  she  knew  beneath  it  was  the  firm  resolve  to  ac- 
complish nobler  achievements.  A  beautiful  love,  re- 
quited or  unrequited,  is  refining  and  elevating  to  the 
soul  of  one  in  whom  the  foundation  of  true  charac- 


204  GRANDMOTHER 

ter  is  begotten.  The  nature  in  which  an  hereditary 
proclivity  to  seek  the  lower  or  evil  course  is  the  one 
that  succumbs  to  a  disappointment  in  love;  and  sim- 
ilar results  would  follow  commercial  or  political 
failures.  The  young  man  who  threatens  to  throw 
his  life  away  in  drink  or  recklessness  has  not  the 
manhood  in  which  a  woman  may  safely  trust  her 
happiness. 

When  at  the  close  of  the  year  Ralph  held  the  hon- 
ors of  his  class,  had  won  the  fraternity  contest  and 
received  the  medal  in  elocution,  there  were  no  two 
people  more  proud  than  his  brother  and  Eleanor 
Harding.  But  Sarah  Runyan  had  the  satisfaction 
of  believing  that  she  was  instrumental  in  directing 
him  into  paths  of  success  that  crowned  him  with 
glory. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DEVELOPMENTS. 

Finden,  the  old  Kentucky  home,  was  alive  with  joy 
and  activity.  The  June  roses  were  blooming  in 
abundance,  the  violets  were  waving  their  little  heads 
in  profusion  from  the  front  gate  to  the  brook  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  the  burning  bush  was  aflame 
with  blossoms,  the  lilacs  were  making  a  sad  effort 
to  hold  their  fragrance  longer,  the  snowballs  were 
whitening  in  the  sun,  and  the  bees  were  humming  a 
tune  of  plenty.  The  cows  were  lowing  a  requiem 
for  offspring  gone  to  market.  The  lawn  and  mea- 
dow, sparkling  with  fireflies,  vied  with  the  starry 
heavens. 

Mrs.  Falconer,  coming  home  from  the  village  at 
twilight,  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  grape-arbor,  won- 
dering what  all  the  commotion  was  about.  Through- 
out the  yard  were  children  and  negroes  catching  the 
little  lightning-bugs.  From  the  veranda  came  peals 
of  laughter,  then  sudden  quiet,  then  another  burst 
of  merriment.  Leaving  Jim  to  attend  to  the  horse 
and  buggy  and  Jennie  to  care  for  the  purchases  she 
had  brought  from  the  village,  she  came  slowly  up 
the  walk. 

"O  Grandmother,  come  and  see  our  pet  toad," 
cried  Varena. 

"Your  what?"  Mrs.  Falconer  asked. 

Clara  Pryor  and  Florence  Lindley  had  come  over 
to  call  on  Varena  and  her  guest,  Mary  Baker.  They, 
with  Russell  and  Ralph,  were  all  standing  watching 
a  large  toad  that  had  come  up  on  the  veranda.  Va- 

205 


206  GRANDMOTHER 

rena  had  seen  it  suck  a  firefly  into  its  mouth  over  a 
space  of  two  or  three  inches.  From  this  followed 
the  sport  of  catching  the  bugs  and  guessing  on  the 
distance  from  which  the  toad  could  secure  his  victim. 
After  a  number  of  fireflies  had  been  devoured,  they 
were  amazed  to  what  extended  proportions  the  toad 
had  swollen,  and  also  at  the  clearness  with  which 
they  could  distinguish  his  skeleton  when  the  flies 
lightened  inside  him.  They  seemed  to  fill  a  cavity 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  joints  of  his  knees. 

"He  must  have  swallowed  fifty  or  a  hundred 
flies,"  said  Ralph. 

"Isn't  it  funny!  He  draws  them  by  suction,  don't 
you  think,  Grandmother?"  Varena  asked. 

"Let's  not  feed  him  any  more.  He  may  burst," 
Mary  Baker  suggested. 

"Now,  if  he  can  manage  to  digest  one  fly  a  day, 
he  can  go  and  creep  into  some  rock  and  pose  as  the 
philosopher's  toad,  and  live  six  months  or  more," 
said  Varena. 

They  called  it  Miss  Mary's  toad.  The  next  even- 
ing, it  came  back,  lank  and  hungry,  and  the  young 
people  fed  him.  In  fact,  it  came  to  be  the  regular 
sport  to  sacrifice  the  brilliant  fireflies  at  the  shrine 
of  the  homely  toad,  until  Grandmother  became  an- 
noyed with  the  heathenish  rite  and  requested  them 
to  desist.  Then,  the  hungry  creature  hopped  the 
full  length  of  the  veranda  and  into  the  house,  and 
continued  to  come  for  several  days.  Varena  said  he 
was  hunting  for  Mary  Baker  and  advised  her  to 
ship  him  to  the  zoological  gardens. 

The  two  friends  spent  a  delightful  summer.  Free 
from  care  and  unrestrained  by  conventionalities,  they 
roamed  over  the  old  farm,  enjoying  every  feature 
of  its  rural  beauty.  Little  excursions  were  made  to 
visit  the  scenes  of  juvenile  games  and  youthful  expe- 
riences. A  lunch  was  eaten  on  the  high  hill,  and  the 
big  tree,  from  which  Varena  had  ingloriously  fallen, 


GRANDMOTHER  207 

was  examined  critically.  The  underbrush  had  all 
been  cleared  off  from  the  hillside  where  Ralph  had 
leaped  into  the  heavens  to  escape  the  serpent;  but 
the  old  limb  that  had  scattered  the  girl  and  the  ber- 
ries over  the  ground  still  hung  across  the  path.  A 
flock  of  sheep  ranged  over  the  pasture,  questioning 
the  intruders  with  mild,  wistful  eyes;  but  no  daring 
leader  approached  them.  It  was  in  the  old  Peace 
Palace  tree,  in  the  grove  near  the  house,  that  the 
friends  often  climbed  and  sat  for  hours,  reading  and 
exchanging  confidences. 

"This  is  such  a  restful,  happy  summer,"  said 
Mary,  closing  her  book  and  adjusting  herself  to  a 
more  comfortable  position  in  the  old  tree.  "No 
wonder  you  are  such  lovely  people  reared  on  a  farm 
like  this.  It  makes  me  tired  to  think  of  going  back 
to  the  glitter  and  pomp  and  bustle  of  the  city." 

"It's  just  Grandmother.  It  is  so  lovely  to  come 
back  to  her  in  the  same  old  house  and  furniture,  the 
flowers,  the  bees,  the  trees,  all  just  as  we  left  them. 
I  shall  be  eighteen  next  June,  and  I'm  as  happy  sit- 
ting in  this  old  tree,  swinging  my  feet,  as  I  was  years 
ago  when  Ralph  said  'I  wouldn't  play  fair.'  I'll  tell 
you  a  secret,  Mary.  There's  a  great  mystery  con- 
nected with  this  tree  and  the  earth  beneath  it.  And 
I  have  a  presentiment  that  it  in  some  way  affects  my 
life." 

"I'm  afraid  of  mysteries  and  secrets.  In  story- 
books, they  are  always  associated  with  things  un- 
canny and  terrible,"  Mary  replied. 

"This  is  not  a  story.  It's  a  real,  sure  enough 
happenstance,"  whispered  Varena,  ghostily. 

"Happenstance  is  not  in  the  dictionary,"  laughed 
Mary. 

"That  is  what  I  mean,  anyway — a  strange  circum- 
stance  that  happened  years  ago.  Often,  my  im- 
agination reaches  out  into  the  unknown,  and  I  try 
to  fathom  the  future;  and,  always,  this  mystery 


208  GRANDMOTHER 

spreads  out  before  me  like  an  immense  enigma  of 
people,  places,  and  things,  and  I  feel  that  I  shall 
some  day  be  able  to  solve  it,"  continued  Varena. 

"Professor  Clayton  says  you're  too  visionary," 
said  Mary.  "We  shall  have  a  practical  problem  to 
solve  at  school  the  first  of  the  year." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Our  class  president.  There  are  fourteen  of  us, 
provided  no  new  girls  come  in,  which  is  not  prob- 
able; and  the  fight  for  the  office  will  be  over  you  and 
Eleanor  Harding." 

"There  shall  be  no  fight  as  far  as  I  am  concerned. 
Let  Eleanor  have  it.  She'll  make  a  good  president." 

"We  knew  that  was  the  way  you  would  regard  the 
situation;  so  you  weren't  invited  to  attend  the  cau- 
cus we  held  before  school  closed.  Your  friends  are 
determined  to  have  you,  and  you  really  owe  some- 
thing to  them.  Eleanor  has  been  very  overbearing 
and  distant  to  most  of  the  class,  until  the  last  few 
weeks." 

"I  don't  think  she  means  to  be  supercilious.  She 
is  naturally  proud  and  reserved,"  explained  Varena. 

"Why  should  she  begin  cultivating  the  girls  just 
at  the  close  of  the  year?"  Mary  asked. 

"For  some  reason  she  grdw  weary  of  the  boys 
and  naturally  turned  to  the  girls.  If  she  aspires  to 
the  honor  of  president  of  our  class  I  shall  vote  for 
her,"  insisted  Varena. 

"It  will  be  closely  contested.  We  counted  on 
Katie  Benedict;  but,  since  she  began  rooming  with 
Eleanor,  she's  gone  over  to  her  side." 

"Katie  has  a  better  opinion  of  her  roommate  than 
Sarah  had,  then?"  Varena  asked.  "Katie  lives  in 
Milwaukee,  doesn't  she?" 

"Yes;  we  came  back  together  after  the  holidays. 
She  is  perfectly  bewitched  with  her  roommate;  she 
talks  about  her  continually.  She  feels  a  sympathy  for 


GRANDMOTHER  209 

her  that  she  would  not  dare  manifest  to  the  girl 
herself." 

"I'm  not  surprised.  Eleanor  is  an  unapproach- 
able girl,"  said  Varena,  indifferently. 

Mary  continued:  "Katie  says,  Eleanor's  charac- 
ter is  a  combination  of  two  distinct  personalities; 
that  while  she  appears  proud,  she  is  simply  trying  to 
be  reserved;  haughty,  she  is  praying  to  be  gentle; 
arrogant,  she  wishes  she  were  affable;  disdainful, 
she  is  longing  to  be  unassuming;  irritable,  she  is 
pleading  for  patience;  selfish,  she  admires  utilitari- 
anism; vain,  she  covets  modesty;  strong,  yet  she 
knows  herself  weak." 

"I'm  sorry  for  her,"  said  Varena.  "I  wish  she 
could  have  my  grandmother;  then  her  better  nature 
would  predominate." 

"Your  grandmother  is  lovely,  and  so  good  to  me. 
Think  of  her  making  me  a  present  of  my  graduating 
dress!  I'm  going  to,  wear  it  on  a  much  more  im- 
portant occasion,"  Mary  confessed,  blushing. 

"When?  Have  you  a  secret  that  you  haven't  told 
me?" 

"I  think  you  have  guessed  it,"  answered  Mary, 
still  blushing. 

"I  used  to  wish  that  you  and  Ralph  would  fancy 
each  other;  but  I  soon  saw  that  Professor  Clayton 
was  your  ideal.  Ralph  expects  to  go  to  Harlam, 
Tennessee,  to  be  cashier  in  the  bank  next  summer. 
That's  the  reason  he's  staying  in  the  First  National 
in  the  village  this  summer,  just  for  the  practise.  Our 
father  was  the  largest  stockholder  in  the  Harlam 
bank,  and  that  will  belong  to  Ralph  and  me.  I  don't 
know  why  Russell  was  not  to  have  a  share  in  the 
bank,  unless  he  is  to  take  the  farm.  But  tell  me 
about  your  wedding.  When  is  it  to  be?" 

"Some  time  in  the  summer,  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
ready  after  I  leave  school.  We'll  miss  you  the  next 


no  GRANDMOTHER 

year  at  Danboro,"  said  Mary,  very  happy  in  the  con- 
templation of  her  future. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  for  you.  I  know  you'll  be  the 
dearest  little  wife,  and  have  the  coziest  little  home 
imaginable,"  gushed  Varena. 

"And  do  you  know  that  I  think  I  am  very  much 
indebted  to  you  for  it?  Professor  Clayton  has  al- 
ways loved  me;  but  he  never  found  it  out  until  this 
year.  He  said  when  he  saw  me  that  first  Sunday 
at  church,  that  his  heart  went  all  to  pieces;  then,  the 
night  that  I  represented  Aphrodite,  the  matter  was 
eternally  settled." 

"I  hope  you  will  always  be  happy,"  said  Varena. 
There  was  wistful  melancholy  in  her  voice. 

"You  mustn't  feel  bad  because  I  have  concluded 
to  go  home.  You  have  already  done  so  much  for 
me,  I  can  never  cease  to  thank  you,"  added  Mary. 

"We  don't  want  thanks;  we  are  compensated  in 
your  happiness;  but  I  shall  be  pretty  lonely  when 
you  are  gone,  with  Ralph  in  town  all  day,  and  Russell 
so  very  busy,  for  he  has  everything  to  superintend 
now,"  said  Varena. 

"There  are  so  many  things  necessary  for  me  to 
attend  to  at  home  this  fall,  that  I  may  be  ready  to 
leave  next  year,"  explained  Mary. 

"I  understand.  Yonder  comes  Ralph;  it  must  be 
after  four  o'clock.  He  has  the  letters,  too,"  cried 
Varena. 

"One  for  me,  sure,"  and  Mary  smiled  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  letter  that  she  might  read  accurately  with- 
out breaking  the  seal. 

It  proved  to  be  a  letter  in  which  Professor  Clay- 
ton asked  her  to  meet  him  in  the  city  of  Louiston 
the  following  Thursday  as  she  was  on  her  way  home. 

Russell  was  having  a  very  vexatious  time  on  the 
farm  this  summer.  A  large  crop  of  tobacco  had 
been  raised  and  prepared  for  market;  but  a  war 


GRANDMOTHER  211 

between  the  farmers  and  the  trusts  had  sprung  up 
so  rapidly  and  was  waged  so  bitterly  that  no  disposi- 
tion had  been  made  of  the  produce  when  the  boys 
returned  from  college;  and,  very  much  as  it  was 
during  the  time  of  the  Civil  War,  houses  were  di- 
vided among  themselves.  Earnest  and  conscientious 
as  to  the  right  and  wrong  of  the  situation,  Russell 
and  Ralph  took  opposite  sides  of  the  question.  One 
wished  to  ship  the  tobacco  and  sell  it  on  the  city 
market;  the  other  was  determined  to  hold,  or  pool  it, 
until  the  trust  was  forced  to  give  a  reasonable  price 
for  it.  There  was  no  personal  feeling  between  the 
boys,  only  a  determination  to  outwit  each  other. 
Consequently,  Russell  planned  to  secure  help  and 
have  the  hogsheads  hauled  to  the  river  some  night 
while  his  brother  was  asleep.  Ralph,  equally  secre- 
tive, had  arranged  with  a  party  to  get  the  tobacco, 
and  store  it  with  the  Equity  Company.  Jack  Lind- 
ley,  the  boy  whom  Russell  had  struck  in  the  face  for 
kissing  his  sister,  resolved,  without  any  accomplice, 
to  burn  the  barn  and  its  contents  and  enjoy  the  secret 
satisfaction  of  revenge,  while  the  stigma  would  fall 
on  one  or  the  other  of  the  contending  tobacco  organi- 
zations. 

Twice  Jack  came  in  the  night  with  his  oil  and 
matches,  and,  seeing  a  dim  light  in  the  barn,  ran  for 
his  life,  imagining  a  pistol  shot  in  every  twig  that 
was  broken  by  his  scampering  feet.  In  the  third  ef- 
fort at  incendiarism,  he  approached  the  barn  from 
a  different  direction,  and  poured  his  oil  over  a  bunch 
of  hay  and  was  in  the  act  of  striking  a  match,  when, 
in  the  stillness  of  the  night  and  magnified  by  his 
guilty  imagination,  a  little  sneeze  sounded  so  like 
the  explosion  of  a  dynamite  bomb  that  he  dropped 
his  oil  can  and  matches,  and  made  for  the  road. 
He  ran  into  an  old  cow,  stumbled  over  a  nest  of 
pigs,  fell  into  a  pond  of  water,  and  left  a  piece  of 
his  shirt  on  a  wire  fence. 


212  GRANDMOTHER 

A  few  nights  later,  while  the  brothers  were  watch- 
ing each  other,  Ralph's  men  quietly  drove  their  teams 
into  the  lot  and  began  opening  the  big  doors  when  a 
light  suddenly  flared  up  and  they  drove  away  rapidly. 
Ralph  was  very  much  provoked  at  their  failure,  at- 
tributing their  scare  to  some  will-o'-the-wisp. 

The  next  night,  Russell  and  his  gang  came  rather 
boldly,  for  Ralph  had  been  sent  to  the  city  on  busi- 
ness for  the  bank.  They  drove  the  wagons  up  near 
the  doors,  and,  as  they  opened  them,  Russell  saw 
a  glimmer  of  light,  and  was  sure  that  some  one  was 
setting  fire  to  the  barn.  He  drew  his  pistol  and 
rushed  in.  There  was  a  tiny  lamp  burning  on  top  of 
one  of  the  hogsheads,  an  open  book  beside  it,  and 
Varena  sound  asleep.  He  caught  her  up  in  his  arms 
and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  she  laughed  heart- 
ily, when  she  saw  who  held  her. 

"And  so  you  are  the  guardian  who  has  saved  our 
barn  from  burning.  Well,  this  ends  it.  Ralph  and 
I  will  divide  to-morrow.  He  may  take  his  half  and 
do  as  he  pleases,  and  I  will  ship  the  other  half. 
Grandmother's  worries  will  end,  and  you  can  sleep 
in  the  house.  You're  a  brave  girl,"  said  Russell. 
Turning  to  the  men,  he  continued:  "Sister  rules  to- 
night. Come  back  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  I  think 
we  will  haul  my  share  away  in  daylight,"  and  the 
trouble  was  ended  for  that  season. 

The  autumn  was  crowding  on  to  the  summer.  Na- 
ture was  rapidly  changing  her  dress,  and  Russell  was 
rushed  in  an  effort  to  fill  the  granaries  and  gather 
the  fruit,  so  as  to  leave  the  place  in  a  comfortable 
condition  when  they  returned  to  school. 

Coming  in  from  his  labors  one  afternoon,  he 
found  Varena  asleep  in  the  front  yard.  Near  a  rose 
bush  on  the  rolling  ground,  where  the  grass  was 
green  and  dry,  she  was  lying  with  her  head  resting 
on  a  mound,  and  her  fancy  work  lying  on  the  ground 


GRANDMOTHER  213 

before  her.  The  boys  had  purchased  a  kodak,  in- 
tending it  for  their  sister's  birthday,  and  had  been 
watching  for  an  opportunity  to  snap  her  picture, 
without  her  knowledge ;  so  that,  when  she  sent  her 
first  batch  to  the  photographer  to  be  developed,  she 
would  be  surprised  to  find  herself  among  them. 
Russell  came  near,  with  an  armful  of  beautifully 
tinted  leaves,  and  finding  Varena  sound  asleep  stood 
looking  at  her,  unmindful  of  the  opportunity  he  had 
been  coveting,  until  he  heard  Ralph  whistling.  He 
raised  a  silencing  finger  and  together  they  decorated 
their  sleeping  sister  with  autumn  leaves  and  roses. 
They  then  propped  a  mirror  in  front  of  her  in  such 
a  position  that  she  would  see  herself  first  when  she 
awakened.  The  boys  stood  behind  her  and  took  one 
picture  of  her  sleeping  and  one  with  the  eyes  wide 
open  in  pleased  surprise.  She  rose  laughing,  saying: 

"I  knew  you  were  decorating  me.  I  could  hear 
you  breathe.  But  I  could  not  imagine  what  you  were 
doing  so  long  when  you  fixed  the  mirror.  And  I 
didn't  dare  to  peek  because  you  were  down  before 
me." 

The  boys  laughed,  too;  for  they  knew  she  had  not 
seen  the  kodak.  It  disappeared  suddenly,  before  she 
had  grasped  the  whole  situation. 


A  personal  influence  that  may  exert  puissant  con- 
trol when  present,  gradually  diminishes  in  power 
with  intervening  space.  Individual  magnetism,  like 
electricity,  makes  only  feeble  indentures  when  too  far 
removed.  It  was  not  necessary  for  Sarah  Runyan 
to  return  to  Danboro  another  year;  for  her  brother 
had  chosen  his  companions  from  trustworthy  friends 
and  was  launched  on  his  course  in  comparative 
safety;  and  Ralph  Farnam  was  left  without  his  con- 
fidante and  monitor. 

The  university  was  scarcely  in  running  order  be- 
fore a  fever  of  excitement  pervaded  the  different 


214  GRANDMOTHER 

departments  over  the  election  of  the  class  president 
in  the  seminary.  The  students  gave  expression  to  a 
preference  on  the  different  sides  in  the  fight,  though 
the  active  participants  were  limited  to  the  fourteen 
members  of  the  senior  class.  The  Farnam  brothers 
were  the  most  deeply  interested  and  said  the  least 
about  it,  even  avoiding  each  other  when  the  matter 
was  discussed.  It  had  been  the  custom  for  a  mem- 
ber of  the  faculty  to  preside  at  the  first  class  meeting, 
when  the  officers  were  elected.  There  was  no  prece- 
dent in  which  a  teacher  had  cast  the  deciding  vote 
in  case  of  a  tie,  and  she  refused  to  do  so  now.  After 
the  first  meeting,  in  which  Eleanor  Harding  and 
Varena  Farnam  had  received  seven  votes  each,  the 
girls  were  advised  to  appoint  another  meeting,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  talk  the  matter  over  amicably.  The 
advice  was  followed,  and  three  different  times  they 
met  and  adjourned  with  the  same  result.  The  pecu- 
liar quality  of  the  Kentucky  atmosphere  animated 
the  girls  with  the  resolve  to  elect  the  candidate  of 
their  choice  or  none  at  all.  Varena's  appeal  to  her 
friends  to  give  up  and  put  an  end  to  the  trouble  only 
increased  their  love  and  admiration  for  her,  and 
strengthened  their  determination  to  elect  her  at  all 
hazards. 

When  Ralph  came  to  his  sister  and  asked  her 
to  withdraw  in  favor  of  Eleanor,  she  asked:  "Does 
Russell  wish  me  to?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  think  not" 

"I'm  in  the  hands  of  my  constituents,  and  shall 
be  guided  by  them,"  she  replied,  smiling. 

It  was  known  that  each  nominee  for  office  had 
voted  for  her  opponent,  and  a  remark  had  been 
made  that  the  contest  might  be  terminated  by  one 
voting  for  herself. 

Mary  Baker  said  to  Katie  Benedict:  "Varena 
would  be  offended  at  the  suggestion." 


GRANDMOTHER  215 

"They  are  all  discussing  it,"  laughed  Katie.  "But 
if  each  votes  for  herself,  the  tie  remains." 

"Varena  Farnam  would  not  do  such  a  thing," 
Mary  declared. 

"I  don't  know  whether  Eleanor  would  or  not.  I 
hope  not,"  said  Katie,  seriously. 

Some  urged  one  thing,  some  another;  finally,  a 
meeting  was  appointed.  Advocates  were  chosen 
from  both  factions  to  plead  the  merits  of.  the  candi- 
dates. The  girls  were  all  excited,  save  Varena,  who 
was  indifferent  to  the  result.  Katie  Benedict,  who 
loved  and  admired  her  roommate  and  knew  her 
good  qualities  better  than  any  one  knew  them,  now, 
nervously  but  quietly  watched  her,  hoping  that  Elea- 
nor's better  nature  would  conquer,  and  she  might  be 
able  to  resist  the  temptation  of  accepting  doubtful 
honors.  As  she  sat  looking  across  the  room  at  the 
proud  beauty,  she  remembered  that  in  writing  the 
names,  Varena  Farnam  ran  straight  along  the  line, 
while  Eleanor  Harding  went  above  and  below  the 
line.  The  tellers  passed  slips  of  paper.  The  pencils 
moved,  and  a  loud-sounding  sigh  escaped  Katie 
Benedict  before  her  eyes  dropped  to  her  own  paper 
and  she  wrote  unhesitatingly.  The  tellers  counted 
the  votes  and  the  chair  announced — "A  tie." 

The  tell  tale  crimson  of  Eleanor's  cheek,  the  flash 
of  her  angry  eye,  indicated  clearly  that  she  knew  one 
friend  had  forsaken  her.  Varena  rose  and  tried  to 
withdraw  her  name;  but  her  voice  was  drowned  in 
a  bedlam  of  noise,  and  the  meeting  adjourned. 

.The  faculty  met  to  consider  the  situation  and  to 
devise  some  plan  by  which  satisfactory  results  could 
be  attained  that  would  prevent  the  breach  from  wid- 
ening and  leaving  a  permanent  feud  in  the  school. 
Varena  was  sent  for  and  readily  agreed  to  withdraw 
in  the  interest  of  peace  and  harmony.  The  inter- 
view with  Eleanor  Harding  was  less  satisfactory, 


2i  6  GRANDMOTHER 

though  she  was  persuaded  to  be  content  with  holding 
the  office  for  a  term  of  half  the  year.  A  meeting 
was  called.  A  motion  to  divide  the  year  into  a  first 
and  a  second  period  was  made  and  carried.  When 
the  nomination  for  president  for  the  first  term  was 
called  for,  the  Harding  faction  precipitately  nomi- 
nated Eleanor,  who  was  unanimously  elected.  They 
had  blundered  into  thinking  that  the  election  for 
the  last  and  most  important  period  would  not  take 
place  until  the  expiration  of  the  first  term;  but  Va- 
rena  was  duly  elected  at  once.  In  a  shor  time,  all 
parties  were  satisfied  by  the  amicable  adjustment  of 
the  class  and  were  enthusiastically  planning  for  the 
brilliant  achievements  of  their  regime;  and  the  school 
enjoyed  an  unprecedented  season  of  sparkling  events. 
Each  function  was  unique  and  more  enjoyable  than 
the  last.  Eleanor  never  wearied  in  her  festivities. 
She  seemed  controlled  by  a  proud,  restless  spirit  that 
slept  neither  day  or  night. 

The  sombre  clouds  had  overspread  the  sky.  The 
cooling  winds  murmured  through  the  trees,  giving 
promise  of  a  coming  friend  that  would  clothe  their 
nakedness  in  garments  soft  and  white,  as  a  compen- 
sation for  their  unresisting  submission  when  Jack 
Frost  stole  their  dresses  of  green.  The  brown  leaves 
flitted  to  and  fro  in  restlessness,  seeking  a  sheltered 
grove  where  they  might  sink  into  mother  earth,  that 
unannihilated  protoplasm  could  be  born  again  in 
newness  of  form  in  the  spring's  awaking.  The  ver- 
anda vines,  swayed  by  the  impulse  of  the  wind, 
loosed  their  tendril  clasps  and  fell  in  heaps  on  the 
ground,  no  longer  obstructing  the  askance  rays  of 
the  winter  sun.  Eleanor  Harding  looked  out  at  the 
beautiful  white  snowflakes  coquetting  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  conceived  the  happy  idea  of  a  sleighing 
party  for  her  last  social  function.  It  was  a  glorious 
scheme.  Such  heavy  snowfalls  were  rare  in  Ken- 
tucky. A  wagon-bed  on  a  pair  of  old-fashioned 


GRANDMOTHER  217 

bob-sleds  would  hold  the  fourteen  girls  and  the  chap- 
eron and  as  many  boys.  They  would  have  dinner  in 
the  mountains  and  return  by  moonlight.  The  scheme 
met  with  the  approval  of  the  class,  and  a  committee 
called  on  the  Principal  to  requst  permission  to  pre- 
pare for  and  execute  the  plan. 

She  shook  her  head,  saying:  "Saturday  would  be 
the  only  day  that  I  could  let  you  go.  By  then  your 
beautiful  snow  will  be  all  mud." 

"And  may  we  go  if  the  snow  lasts?"  they  asked. 

"You  may  go  if  there  is  snow  sufficient.  Your 
President  has  had  a  happy  success  in  all  her  work 
so  far,  and  she  must  not  grieve  when  once  she  is  dis- 
appointed. It  is  too  warm  and  the  snow  too  light 
to  last,"  continued  the  Principal. 

Still,  the  snow  kept  on  falling,  all  that  day  and 
the  next;  then  it  began  to  grow  warm.  At  midnight 
some  of  the  girls  arose  to  look  out  at  the  snow. 
All  nature  was  shrouded  in  white;  it  clung  to  the 
trees  and  bushes.  But  the  pale  moon  made  one  dark 
shadow  conspicuous.  Eleanor  held  her  breath  in 
wonder.  A  shadow  that,  at  first  seemed  stationary 
beneath  her  window,  moved  swiftly  across  the  lawn 
and  disappeared  behind  the  shrubbery.  She  was  in- 
tent on  catching  another  glimpse  of  the  object  when 
Katie  Benedict  called  to  her,  saying: 

"You'll  take  cold  out  there  in  your  gown.  How  is 
the  snow?  Melting?" 

"It  isn't  cold.  The  snow  is  lovely,  but  it  will  not 
last.  It  is  dropping  from  the  trees  now.  O,  I'm  so 
sorry,"  sighed  Eleanor. 

Saturday  morning  found  the  girls  all  filled  with 
regret  that  the  winter  picnic  had  to  be  abandoned. 

"Melting  snow  and  drizzling  rain,"  said  Mary 
Baker  to  Katie  Benedict.  "I'm  more  sorry  on  Elea- 
nor's account  than  anything  else.  She  will  feel  vexed 
over  the  failure  of  the  scheme,  even  though  it  is 
nature's  fault" 


218  GRANDMOTHER 

"She  does  not  seem  to  care  at  all,"  replied  Katie. 
"She's  in  better  spirits  than  she's  been  this  year.  I 
mean  she's  in  a  different  mood."  They  did  not  know 
that  Eleanor's  change  of  mood  was  caused  by  a 
change  in  her  outlook  on  the  things  of  life. 

She  had  left  one  of  her  books  in  the  college  li- 
brary the  day  before  and  it  was  returned  to  her  by 
Horace  Runyan.  In  it  she  found  a  card  on  which 
was  written,  in  a  well-known  calligraphy,  this  little 
poem: 

Starlight  shines  upon  the  snow, 

Brightly  so  brightly, 
Yet  it  wakes  no  genial  glow 
In  the  cold,  unfeeling  snow, 

Sleeping  so  whitely. 

Thus  is  falling  now  my  love, 

Lightly  so  lightly, 
On  a  heart  no  power  can  move, 
On  a  heart  that  treats  my  love 

Lightly  so  lightly. 

Eleanor,  tell  me,  where  the  snow 

Now  sleeps  so  whitely, 
Will  not  love  flowers  some  time  grow, 
When  my  love  shall  melt  the  snow, 

Kissing  it  lightly? 

She  read  and  re-read  the  poem  with  humid  eyes. 
She  recalled,  with  a  new  interpretation,  many  words 
and  acts,  and  read  in  coy  expressions  things  only 
hoped  for  before.  She  pressed  the  little  card  spas- 
modically to  her  heart.  It  was  a  key  by  which  she 
could  answer  many  questions,  a  rule  by  which  she 
could  solve  many  little  incidents  of  the  past  few 
months. 

Later  Katie  Benedict  found  her  roommate  dress- 


GRANDMOTHER  219 

ing  for  dinner  with  unusual  care,  and  asked:  "Are 
we  to  have  guests  to-day?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  Eleanor  answered,  smil- 
ing at  herself  in  the  mirror. 

"Why  are  you  dressing  so  handsomely?  You 
haven't  taken  the  trouble  to  do  your  hair  in  French 
waves  since  the  last  party,"  said  Katie. 

"  Tm  just  a  feelin'  good,'  "  quoted  Eleanor. 

"There's  somethin'  in  me,  though  as  seems 

Would  burst  out  if  it  could. 
I'm  just  a  bubblin'  over  now 

'Cause  I'm  a  feelin'  good.'  ' 

"We  supposed  that  you  would  be  the  most  disap- 
pointed one  of  the  crowd,  when  the  snow  melted," 
stated  Katie,  in  surprise. 

"I  am  very  sorry  that  we  didn't  get  to  go.  I  hope 
the  girls  will  not  feel  too  bad.  Everything  else  that 
we  planned  was  a  success.  Sometimes,  a  little  pleas- 
ure may  compensate  for  the  loss  of  a  big  lot  of  fun. 
Since  the  snow  melted  off  the  pansy  bed,  I  found 
these  blossoms.  Aren't  they  pretty?  Think  of  their 
blooming  under  the  snow!  Don't  they  look  sweet 
on  my  black  hair?"  continued  Eleanor.  "You  little 
darlings." 

"You're  a  queer  girl.  Sounds  like  my  little  sister 
making  love  to  her  kitten,"  said  Katie. 

"There's  the  dinner  bell.  You'd  better  hurry," 
answered  Eleanor,  smiling  radiantly. 

"You  have  spent  an  hour  beautifying  your  beau- 
tiful self,  and  a  plain  little  body  like  me  has  to  jump 
into  her  togs  in  five  minutes,"  and  Katie  hastily 
changed  her  dress. 

"You  don't  have  to,"  averred  Eleanor. 

"The  more  you  have,  the  more  you  want;  the  less 
you  have,  the  less  you  care.  Isn't  that  a  wise  say- 
ing? Write  it  down  that  it  may  be  preserved  for 


220  GRANDMOTHER 

generations  to  come,"  ended  Katie,  as  they  hastened 
to  the  dining-room. 

Eleanor  carefully  preserved  her  pansies,  and  wore 
them  in  her  hair  next  day,  when  she  went  to  church. 
She  treasured  them  as  the  emblem  of  the  poem  she 
had  found  in  her  book.  At  night,  restless  and  unable 
to  sleep,  she  sat  by  her  window,  conning  the  verses, 
watching  the  stars,  and  thinking  of  the  shadow  that 
had  crossed  the  snow-covered  lawn  a  few  nights  pre- 
vious. The  moon  had  not  yet  risen  and  the  earth 
was  dark  and  gloomy;  but  there  was  brightness  in 
her  thoughts  and  exultation  in  her  heart.  She  be- 
lieved that  her  window  was  the  lodestone  of  the  mid- 
night wanderer,  and  again  she  felt  the  presence,  but 
could  not  see  anyone.  She  reached  over  to  her 
dresser  and  took  the  bunch  of  pansies,  fastened  them 
together  with  a  scrap  of  tin-foil,  and  stepped  out  on 
the  balcony.  She  listened.  There  was  not  a  sound. 
She  leaned  over  the  railing  and  held  her  hand  out, 
and,  in  a  moment,  dropped  the  pansies.  Then  she 
went  back  to  bed,  wondering  if  she  would  find  the 
little  beauties  all  faded  in  the  dirt  in  the  morning. 
The  next  evening,  when  the  students  were  in  evidence 
at  one  of  the  lectures,  she  recognized  her  pansies, 
wilted,  but  securely  pinned  on  the  lapel  of  a  coat. 

At  church,  in  class,  on  reception  evenings,  there 
was  an  exchange  of  expression,  a  hand-clasp,  a  touch, 
a  sigh;  call  it  telepathy,  affinity,  or  psychology,  under 
its  spell  they  understood,  responded,  developed  and 
experienced  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express. 
To  cherish  a  secret  is  to  increase  its  power. 

Spring  advanced.  Unfortunately  Katie  Benedict 
was  called  home  by  the  illness  of  her  mother,  and, 
in  her  absence,  Eleanor  found  company  in  counting 
the  stars  from  the  little  veranda  under  her  window 
and  in  dreaming  and  longing  for  a  presence  that 
had  become  dearer  to  her  than  life.  When  Katie 
Benedict  returned  to  school,  after  an  absence  of  three 


GRANDMOTHER  221 

months,  she  found  that  her  roommate  was  very  much 
changed.  She  had  left  her  bright  and  happy,  she 
found  her  pensive  and  irritable.  Eleanor  often  ab- 
sented herself  from  meals  and  pleaded  headache 
from  church;  she  grew  indifferent  to  class  recitation, 
and,  all  at  once,  lost  interest  in  the  prospect  of  grad- 
uation. Yet,  every  one  was  surprised  when  it  was 
whispered  at  the  breakfast  table  one  morning: 
"Eleanor  Harding's  father  came  for  her  and  she 
left  last  night.  She  is  going  to  Europe  with  her 
brother,  the  journalist." 

"Only  two  months  till  commencement — he  might 
have  waited  that  long  and  let  her  graduate,"  was 
the  answering  comment. 

"She  said  she  was  glad  to  go,"  stated  Katie.  "I 
helped  her  pack  her  things,  and  I  think  she  was  sorry 
to  leave  school,  too,  for  she  cried  all  the  time." 

"Did  she  get  to  tell  the  boys  good-bye?"  asked 
one. 

"No,"  Katie  answered.  "She  left  a  letter  for  me 
to  deliver." 

"To  whom?"  asked  Varena. 

Katie  smiled,  saying.  "There's  no  secret  in  its 
contents.  I  know  she  wouldn't  care  if  you  read  it." 

Varena  read:  "Dear  Friend,  good-bye.  I  sail 
for  Europe  with  Brother  Tom  in  a  few  days.  Do 
not  write  until  you  hear  from  me." 

"What  address  is  given?"  asked  one. 

"She  will  send  that  when  she  writes  back  from 
Europe,"  explained  Katie. 

"I  mean  to  whom  is  the  note  addressed?"  she 
urged. 

"That  is  my  secret,"  said  Katie,  smiling. 

"She  wasn't  expecting  to  go  in  a  hurry,"  another 
girl  announced;  "for  she  bought  a  ticket  to  the  lec- 
ture next  Friday  night." 

"I'm  sorry  to  lose  her  from  our  class;  she  would 
have  been  a  handsome  figure  commencement  night," 


222  GRANDMOTHER 

mused  Varena.  "And  she's  so  unlike  the  rest  of 
us." 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  comment;  and,  in  a 
short  time,  Eleanor  was  forgotten,  save  for  the 
cloud  that  seemed  to  fill  the  place  of  her  bright  pres- 
ence. 

Varena  was  busy  planning  for  the  closing  func- 
tions of  the  school.  Commencement  essays  and 
graduating  dresses  were  under  consideration.  The 
air  was  fragrant  with  the  blossoms  of  early  fruit, 
and  wild  flowers  were  in  abundance.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  first  day  of  May,  the  young  ladies  were 
up  early,  dressed  and  out  on  the  verandas,  hunting 
for  May  baskets.  It  was  one  of  the  prettiest  cus- 
toms of  the  university  boys,  to  surprise  the  girls 
with  baskets  of  flowers,  often  containing  boxes  of 
candy,  books,  poems,  or  billets-doux.  In  a  basket 
of  exquisite  roses,  Varena  found  a  verse  of  poetry 
that  she  thought  was  the  sweetest  verse  that  had  ever 
been  written,  and  around  which  hung  an  unsolvable 
mystery;  for  she  knew  there  was  not  one  student 
in  the  university  for  whom  she  had  manifested  a 
shadow  of  interest,  or  that  entertained  for  her  any 
feeling  other  than  that  which  results  from  polite  in- 
tercourse. She  had  conceived  the  idea  that  Russell 
thought  she  was  made  of  some  rare  material  and 
could  live  above  the  commonalities  of  life;  and,  in 
deference  to  his  opinion,  she  was  wedded  to  music, 
literature,  and  religion.  But  this  dainty  little  verse, 
peeking  out  from  among  the  red  roses,  touched  a 
chord  in  her  nature  that  had  never  vibrated  before. 
She  was  in  love  with  the  poetry,  but  wished  that  the 
poet  would  remain  anonymous.  It  read: 

If  I  were  a  dewdrop 

And  you  a  red  rose, 
On  thy  soft  silken  petals 

I'd  gently  repose. 


GRANDMOTHER  223 

Steal  the  sweetest  of  perfume, 

And  revel  in  bliss; 
Seek  thy  lips  sweetest  dimple, 

And  dissolve  in  a  kiss. 

Varena  was  impatient  for  an  opportunity  to  re- 
peat her  verse  to  Russell;  but  when  she  found  it 
convenient  to  do  so,  as  they  walked  home  from  a 
lecture,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  say  the  words. 
He  questioned  her  about  the  different  girls  and  their 
baskets;  but  each  seemed  to  feel  some  peculiar  re- 
straint, which  checked  their  confidential  intercourse. 

Horace  Runyan  had  developed  into  a  student  of 
ambitions  and  ability  and  was  a  great  friend  to 
Ralph,  who,  in  gratitude  for  his  sister's  former  kind- 
ness, refused  to  enter  any  contest  that  would  bring 
them  into  competition.  If  Horace  desired  to  try 
for  the  medal  in  elocution,  Ralph  would  not  speak. 
At  least  this  was  the  excuse  with  which  he  tried  to 
satisfy  his  brother,  who  was  chosen  as  valedictorian 
of  his  class.  Russell  was  extremely  vexed  with 
Ralph  for  throwing  away  his  last  opportunity  to  dis- 
play his  ability  and  win  the  plaudits  of  his  fellows. 
A  year  that,  in  the  beginning,  promised  to  be  the 
brightest  and  best  of  the  whole  course,  seemed  to 
end  in  a  cloud  of  uncertainty.  There  was  nothing 
tangible  to  be  criticized  or  surmounted.  It  was  like 
atmospheric  pressure — coming  down  into  low, 
swampy  plains,  after  having  lived  in  a  high,  rarified 
altitude.  Still,  commencement  week  was  complete 
in  every  form.  The  orations  were  excellent,  the 
girls  beautiful,  the  music  of  the  best.  The  literary 
contests  were  good,  only  lacking  in  enthusiasm. 
Mary  Baker,  in  the  contemplated  marriage  with  Pro- 
fessor Clayton,  was  very  happy.  The  Farnam  young 
people  went  home,  rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  once 
more  being  alone  with  Grandmother. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TROUBLE. 

A  premonition  of  evil  caused  Dr.  Harding  to 
withhold  the  purport  of  the  telegram  that  he  re- 
ceived from  the  Principal  of  Danboro  Seminary,  and 
simply  state  to  his  wife  that  he  had  a  call  that  would 
take  him  away  from  the  city  for  a  few  days.  His 
voice  was  hard  and  irritable,  his  good-bye  cold  and 
uncommunicative.  To  these,  she  was  in  a  measure 
accustomed;  but  that  his  personal  necessities  could  be 
supplied  in  a  small  hand-grip,  not  including  his  medi- 
cine-case, was  a  matter  of  serious  conjecture;  and 
Luella  Harding  was  tempted  several  times  to  go  over 
and  discuss  her  anxieties  with  her  sister-in-law,  Ma- 
bel Kendrick.  By  an  intuition  incomprehensible  in 
its  influence — unrecognized  at  the  time,  and  remem- 
bered with  gratitude  afterward — she  restrained  her 
impatience  and  waited,  with  uncertainty,  the  return 
of  her  husband. 

Dr.  Thomas  Harding  travelled  all  night,  reaching 
Danboro  in  the  morning.  He  ate  a  light  breakfast 
in  the  restaurant  at  the  station,  avoiding  a  hotel, 
where  he  would  be  required  to  register  his  name. 
About  nine  o'clock  he  called  at  the  seminary  and 
was  received  by  the  Principal.  The  business  under 
consideration  was  briefly  stated,  and  the  Doctor  was 
permitted  to  hold  a  long  conversation  with  the  ma- 
tron of  the  school.  He  then  went  out,  incognito, 
among  the  university  students;  presumably  in  the 
interest  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.;  in  reality,  to  study 
character  and  reputation.  He  did  not  see  his  daugh- 

224 


GRANDMOTHER  225 

ter  until  she  joined  him  in  the  carriage  that  carried 
them  to  the  train;  nor  did  he  speak  to  her  until  they 
reached  home. 

Then,  to  the  questioning  amazement  on  his  wife's 
face,  he  said.  "She  is  sick.  Take  her  to  her  room 
and  keep  her  there." 

His  cold,  hard,  contemptuous  bearing  had  wrought 
on  his  daughter,  chilling  her  better  nature  into  proud 
defiance,  which  was  changed  to  sorrow  and  humilia- 
tion at  the  first  glance  of  her  gentle,  loving  mother; 
then,  the  locks  melted,  the  flood-gate  burst  open,  and 
she  ran  upstairs  into  her  own  room,  and  let  the  over- 
whelming stream  of  grief  flow  unrestrained.  Mrs. 
Harding  went  to  her  daughter  again  and  again,  each 
time  to  find  a  deeper  sense  of  misery.  She  begged 
her  to  put  aside  her  wraps  and  rest  and  try  to  con- 
trol her  feelings,  saying: 

"I  will  not  urge  you,  dear,  until  you  care  to  talk." 

She  closed  the  door  softly  as  she  left  the  room, 
and  the  tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks  at  the  pathetic 
cry:  "O  Mamma!  Mamma!  good,  patient,  gentle 
Mamma  !  Must  I  be  the  last  straw  that  makes  your 
burden  too  great  to  bear." 

Dr.  Harding  came  home  late  at  night  and  de- 
manded of  his  wife:  "What  have  you  learned?" 

"Nothing.  She's  too  deeply  distressed  to  talk. 
I  sent  supper  up  to  her  room." 

"Distressed!  The  hell  she  is.  I'll  see  that  she 
talks,"  he  threatened. 

"Please,  Thomas,  don't  disturb  her  now.  Let  her 
rest  to-night.  To-morrow  will  be  time,"  pleaded  the 
mother. 

He  pushed  past  her,  and  mounted  the  stairs,  step- 
ping heavily  on  the  polished  hard  wood.  The  room 
door  was  locked;  and,  threaten  as  he  dared,  he  re- 
ceived no  response  from  inside.  His  wife  was  not 
visible  when  he  left  the  house;  she  wisely  avoided 
showing  her  gratification  in  the  forethought  that 


226  GRANDMOTHER 

had  secured  for  her  daughter  a  few  hours'  respite. 

Later,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendrick  came  in  to  see 
Eleanor.  They  were  to  go  east  on  the  morning 
train,  and  be  absent  for  several  weeks;  but  they  of- 
fered to  postpone  the  trip  if  there  was  any  probabil- 
ity of  their  niece  being  seriously  ill.  Luella  Harding 
assured  her  brother  that  she  appreciated  their  offer, 
though  she  would  not  permit  them  to  remain  at 
home.  Eleanor,  having  retired,  saw  them  only  a 
few  moments,  and  bade  them  a  tearful  good-bye. 

Dick  Harding  was  now  a  practising  physician  in 
a  neighboring  city,  and  Tom  had  sailed  for  Europe 
the  day  after  his  sister  reached  Louiston.  By  those 
of  her  acquaintances  who  had  seen  Eleanor  get  off 
the  train,  she  was  supposed  to  have  come  to  Louis- 
ton  to  have  her  elegant  dress  fitted  and  elaborately 
trimmed  for  the  commencement  exercises.  While  it 
was  not  possible  to  keep  the  servants  from  knowing 
of  her  protracted  stay  at  home,  it  was  only  necessary 
to  admit  into  her  confidence  the  faithful  little  maid 
who  had  served  her  for  several  years. 

Eleanor  locked  her  door  whenever  she  heard  her 
father's  step  or  voice;  but,  when  her  mother  looked 
at  her,  or  spoke  to  her,  she  burst  into  tears  with  the 
heart-rending  wail:  "O  Mamma!  Mamma!  you 
are  so  good  and  so  gentle  and  patient.  If  you  would 
just  be  mean  and  cross  to  me,  I  would  not  be  so  mis- 
erable. It  is  killing  me  to  see  how  I  am  breaking 
your  kind  heart.  O  Mamma,  I  don't  know  how  it 
ever  happened.  It  was  just  one  bewildering  moment 
when,  intoxicated  with  ecstatic  rapture,  the  world 
seemed  a  phantom,  and  people  neglible  qualities. 
Oh  that  I  had  died  instead  of  Aunt  Mabel's  little 
baby!" 

"Hush,  dear;  I  know  how  deeply  repentant  you 
are.  Do  not  think  of  me.  Turn  to  Him  who  made 
you,  with  all  your  beauty  and  your  weakness,  and 
ask  His  forgiveness,"  pleaded  her  mother. 


GRANDMOTHER  227 

"Isn't  it  too  late,  Mamma?  Will  God  hear  me, 
now?"  cried  the  girl. 

So  insistent  was  their  grief  that  they  were  uncon- 
scious of  a  presence  in  the  hall.  Dr.  Harding,  de- 
termined to  probe  his  daughter  until  she  acknowl- 
edged certain  facts  that  it  was  important  for  him  to 
know,  had  come  up  in  noiseless  slippers  and  heard 
only  the  wail :  "Oh  that  I  had  died  instead  of  Aunt 
Mabel's  baby!"  He  was  staggered  and  fell  back 
with  a  pain  in  his  breast  like  a  blow  from  an  unseen 
hand.  "Retribution,"  he  murmured  as  he  stole 
away.  Filled  with  remorse,  he  went  to  his  operating 
rooms,  where  he  spent  most  of  his  time,  until  the 
cruelties  he  practised  on  the  helpless  animals  hard- 
ened his  heart  to  its  abnormal  state  of  revenge. 

In  the  meantime  Eleanor  had  grown  careless  of 
her  door,  and  was  surprised  one  evening  when  her 
father  stood  before  her.  She  closed  the  book  she 
had  been  reading,  and  prayerfully  waited  for  the 
encounter. 

In  a  mild  tone  of  voice,  more  dreaded  than  his 
harsher  speech,  he  asked:  "Eleanor,  what  was  the 
cause  of  your  misfortune?" 

"I  was,"  came  the  prompt  reply. 

"There  were  other  influences  and  circumstances. 
What  were  they?"  he  questioned. 

"The  influence  of  the  stars;  the  warm  South  wind 
that  kissed  my  cheek;  the  ravishing  perfume  of  the 
flowers  that  found  their  way  to  the  little  balcony 
under  my  window;  the  mythological  poems  that  I 
studied,  that  told  of  love  of  the  gods.  I  can't  ex- 
plain the  mystery  of  it  all.  I  am  weary  of  think- 
ing and  sick  with  longing." 

She  seemed  to  forget  that  she  was  speaking  to 
her  father,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  living  again 
those  hours  of  the  past,  and  his  mind  went  back  to 
long  banished  memories.  Another  face  filled  the 
space  between  him  and  his  daughter;  a  young  girl 


228  GRANDMOTHER 

as  he  had  loved  her:  then,  a  happy  bride  when  he 
hated  her:  again,  an  agonized  mother  and  a  dead 
child.  With  these  came  the  words  of  the  minister's 
text  a  few  Sundays  previous :  "Vengence  is  mine,  I 
will  recompense." 

He  turned  and  hastily  left  the  house;  and,  Elea- 
nor, aroused  from  her  reverie,  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  interview  was  ended.  A  sad  sigh  escaped 
her  and  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude  filled  her  heart, 
for  she  was  sure  that  some  power  stronger  than  hu- 
man influence  had  subdued  her  father's  wrath. 

Later,  when  she  kissed  her  mother  "good  night," 
she  put  her  arms  around  her  neck  and  whispered: 
"Mamma,  dear,  Mamma,  you  can't  understand  the 
awful  loneliness  of  my  heart,  and,  forgive  me, 
Mamma,  but  it's  true,  there  is  the  sweetest  sadness 
that  comes  with  the  memories  of  those  school  days; 
and  I  do  believe  that  God  will  take  care  of  me,  be- 
cause he  softened  father's  anger  to-day." 

"I  am  thankful  for  even  temporary  peace,  dear, 
now  go  to  bed  and  try  to  rest,"  replied  her  mother. 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  pillows  and  sobbed  her- 
self to  sleep,  and  dreamed  of  the  little  balcony  and 
the  stars  and  pansies  blooming  in  the  cold  snow. 

Whenever  Doctor  Harding  entered  his  daughter's 
room  with  the  determination  to  force  her  to  a  con- 
fession of  the  circumstances  that  brought  an  abrupt 
ending  to  her  college  career,  she  seemed  to  be  pro- 
tected by  some  supernatural  power.  Though  his 
anger  grew  more  bitter  and  his  hatred  more  hellish; 
some  word  of  the  girl,  innocently  spoken,  some  sen- 
tence framed  without  design,  would  touch  a  secret 
chord  that,  vibrating  with  his  own  thoughts,  a  phan- 
tom of  his  evil  deeds  would  rise  up  between  them, 
and  shield  her  from  his  invectives. 

Weeks  past.  Late  one  afternoon  he  came  into 
his  wife's  room  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 


GRANDMOTHER  229 

"A  letter  from  Tom.  He  expects  to  sail  the  thir- 
tieth of  next  month.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?  What  are  you  going  to  do  anyway? 
Something  must  be  done  before  he  gets  home." 

His  wife  did  not  reply.  He  walked  the  floor,  mut- 
tering to  himself,  "Perversity — damn  stubbornness 
— headstrong." 

"Doesn't  she  come  by  some  of  her  faults  hon- 
estly?" questioned  Luella  Harding,  hesitatingly. 

"That's  enough!  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more 
about  the  sin  of  the  parent  visited  on  the  children. 
If  there  were  any  virtue  in  your  saintly  prayers,  you 
might  avert  the  evils  of  hereditary  depravity," 
sneered  the  Doctor. 

"I  haven't  lost  all  my  faith  yet,"  mildly  replied 
his  wife. 

"Well,  I'll  supplement  it  with  works.  Take  these 
powders  and  give  her  one  every  three  hours." 

"She  does  not  need  any  medicine "  began  the 

mother. 

"Will  you  give  them  to  her,"  he  demanded,  "or 
shall  I  stay  at  home  and  see  that  my  directions  are 
carried  out?" 

"I'll  give  her  a  powder  every  three  hours,"  she 
meekly  replied. 

When  the  doctor  left  the  house,  Mrs.  Harding 
took  the  medicine  from  all  the  little  papers  save  one, 
and  replaced  it  with  sugar  and  flour.  She  then  went 
up  to  her  daughter's  room  and  told  her  what  she 
had  done,  and  said: 

"I  am  sure  that  the  powder  he  intended  you  should 
take  is  a  very  strong  medicine,  and  he  will  watch 
for  its  effect  on  you.  You  will  have  to  do  some 
clever  acting  in  order  to  deceive  him." 

"Do  you  mean  for  me  to  feign — to  make  be- 
lieve? That  is  so  unlike  you,  Mamma,"  said  Elea- 
nor. 

"My  dear,  in  the  last  hour  a  revolution  has  passed 


230  GRANDMOTHER 

through  my  soul.  Another  self  is  dominant:  the  old 
submissive  one  is  completely  crushed.  Henceforth 
I  shall  determine  your  welfare  and,  'the  Lord  will- 
ing,' accomplish  your  destiny,  praying  that  I  sin  not 
as  a  wife  and  mother." 

"Mayn't  you  be  mistaken,  Mamma?  I  told  him 
that  I  have  a  severe  headache.  Perhaps  he  feels 
more  kindly  than  you  think?" 

"No,  dear,  I  have  learned  to  read  his  face.  I 
know  what  a  certain  twitching  of  his  eye  and  the 
hard  set  of  his  jaw  mean." 

"O,  I  am  so  unutterably  sad!"  sobbed  Eleanor. 

"Your  father  is  desperate  and — and,  I'll  try  not 
to  judge  him  too  harshly.  But  we  must  deceive  him 
for  a  few  days." 

"What  good  will  a  few  days  do?" 

"Your  Uncle  Richard  and  Aunt  Mabel  will  be  at 
home  next  week.  Their  presence  will  be  a  restrain- 
ing influence." 

"O,  but  I  don't  want  to  see  them,  Mamma.  Can't 
we  go  away  to  spend  the  summer?" 

"We  might  possibly  arrange  it.  We'll  think 
about  it.  You  know  Richard  has  purchased  a  car- 
riage that  is  run  by  electricity,  called  an  automobile. 
Judge  Johnson  says  it's  a  wonderful  machine.  I 
never  knew  him  so  elated  over  anything  as  he  is 
over  their  automobile.  He  has  arranged  for  Rich- 
ard to  take  your  father  and  some  friends  on  a 
pleasure  trip  down  through  Kentucky.  But  we  have 
other  things  to  think  of  now.  This  medicine,  that  is, 
the  real  medicine,  in  all  probability  would  make  a 
change  in  the  action  of  your  pulse "  she  hesi- 
tated, endeavoring  to  hide  her  tears,  "you  mustn't 
let  the  doctor  take  your  temperature  or  feel  your 
pulse.  So,  perhaps  you  had  better  play  the  part  of 
the  willful  hysteric.  Watch  his  questioning,  and  an- 
swer as  you  think  he  anticipates.  Be  sure  that  you 


GRANDMOTHER  231 

don't  take  any  medicine  that  he  may  want  to  give 
you  till  I  have  had  a  chance  to " 

"You  don't  think  he  would "  Eleanor  stared, 

with  questioning  horror. 

"I  hope  not,  dear.  He  was  up  very  late  last  night, 
and  his  countenance  was  dark  and  severe.  He's  been 
strangely  restless  all  morning.  He  forbid  me  to 
speak  to  him  of  Mabel's  coming." 

"Maybe,  he  don't  like  it  because  they  have  the 
first  automobile?" 

"It's  not  that,  for  if  he  likes  it  he  will  get  one  of 
his  own.  It  would  be  an  advantage  to  him  in  his 
practice." 

"Well,  I  wish  something  would  happen  to  take 
his  thoughts  away  from  me.  I  am  weary,  sick  and 
sad.  I  know  that  the  way  I  failed  in  finishing  my 
senior  year  was  a  great  disappointment  to  him,  but 
it  does  not  justify  him  in  adding  more  wickedness  to 
what  can't  be  helped,"  sighed  the  girl. 

"Be  courageous  and  follow  my  advice.  Don't  let 
him  get  any  satisfaction.  You  know  how  to  act  bet- 
ter than  I  can  tell  you." 

"I  can  do  anything  in  the  world  for  your  sake, 
Mamma,  I  would  willingly  die  for  you,  if  by  so  do- 
ing I  could  blot  out  all  of  your  unhappy  life  and  give 
you  that  which  you  deserve.  But  I  will  not  suffer  for 
the  cruel  man  whose  false  pride  and  egoism  would 
condemn  me  to  eternal  misery." 

The  powders  were  taken  regularly,  and  at  9 
o'clock  in  the  evening  Dr.  Harding  went  to  Elea- 
nor's room.  He  found  her  in  bed,  sobbing.  Her 
hair  was  disheveled  and  her  covers  awary. 

"Where  are  you  suffering?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

Her  mumbled  reply  from  the  depths  of  the  pil- 
lows was  unintelligible. 

"Where  are  those  powders?"  he  asked,  looking 
around, 


232  GRANDMOTHER 

His  wife,  who  was  listening,  came  in  from  the 
hall,  and  he  questioned  her.  She  knew  he  was  not 
satisfied;  but  she  did  not  shrink  as  she  would  have 
done  under  other  circumstances.  She  was  resolved 
to  outwit  him  by  deception,  or,  failing  in  that,  resist 
in  open  defiance. 

"Has  she  slept  any?"  he  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  replied. 

"It's  your  business  to  know,"  he  asserted. 

"I  was  kept  in  the  parlor  with  callers,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Hang  callers!  How  many  more  damn  ques- 
tions did  your  callers  ask?"  he  questioned. 

"Nothing  more  than  to  ask  if  Eleanor  was  im- 
proving, and  if  she  really  had  tuberculosis,"  said 
Mrs.  Harding.  Then,  to  hide  a  smile  that  took 
her  unaware,  she  added:  "They  were  very  kind  in 
their  sympathy." 

From  behind  her  father's  back  Eleanor  was  peek- 
ing from  under  the  pillow;  her  face  was  aglow  with 
fun  and  mischief,  which  the  traces  of  real  sorrow 
made  most  pathetic.  The  Doctor  turned  sharply 
around  and  was  greeted  with  a  prolonged  groan. 

"Give  me  those  powders,"  he  demanded. 

"There  is  only  one  left,"  Mrs.  Harding  replied, 
mildly. 

"There  should  be  two,"  he  stated. 

"I  spilled  one,"  she  lied. 

He  took  the  real  powder,  opened  and  examined 
it,  and  said:  "Give  this  to  her  now,  and  I  will 
prepare  some  more." 

Mrs.  Harding  crossed  the  room  to  get  a  spoon 
and  glass  of  water  from  a  stand,  and,  as  she  did 
so,  exchanged  the  real  powder  for  the  false  one; 
and  after  a  great  deal  of  coaxing,  she  quieted  her 
daughter  sufficiently  to  take  it. 

"You  had  better  stay  with  her.     I'll  be  in  my 


GRANDMOTHER  233 

study  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,"  said  the  Doctor, 
as  he  left  the  room. 

"Take  that  awful  powder  out  of  your  mouth, 
Mamma.  I  saw  you  slip  it  in.  Spit  it  out,"  urged 
Eleanor,  as  soon  the  door  closed  on  her  father. 

"I  did,  dear,  the  moment  Thomas  turned  his 
back."  They  smiled  into  each  other's  tear-stained 
eyes.  "You  acted  well,  can  you  keep  it  up?" 

"I'll  try,  Mamma.  It  is  fun  to  fool  him.  How 
shall  I  perform  when  he  comes  again?" 

Mrs.  Harding  raised  her  finger  and  looked  to- 
ward the  door.  Both  listened  and  heard  a  sound 
like  one  breathing  excitedly.  Eleanor  began  to  moan 
and  groan  and  fret.  In  a  few  minutes  her  father 
opened  the  door.  He  tried  to  take  her  hands  and 
examine  her  pulse,  and  she  flung  wildly  about.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  her  hair,  and  she  buried  her  face 
in  the  pillows.  Her  mother  tried  to  soothe  her,  and 
she  screamed  and  cried,  taking  care  not  to  make  a 
noise  that  could  be  heard  very  far. 

"Give  her  this  powder  and  it  will  quiet  her  nerves 
so  she  may  sleep.  At  one  o'clock  begin  with  these 
pink  powders,  and  give  her  one  every  two  hours. 
I  have  a  call  to  the  west  side  of  the  city  that  will 
detain  me  all  night.  I  want  Eleanor  to  sleep  while 
I'm  absent." 

"I'll  go  down  and  get  some  fresh  water,"  said 
Mrs.  Harding.  She  allowed  some  trivial  duties  to 
detain  her  in  the  dining-room  until  her  husband  had 
left  the  house.  When  she  returned  to  her  daughter's 
room,  they  laughed  and  cried  together. 

"I  hope,  dear,  that  you  can  sleep  in  peace  to- 
night, though  I  never  know  what  to  expect  from 
Thomas.  He  may  return  at  any  moment,  or  he  may 
stay  away  for  days." 

"Mamma,  you  are  so  kind  and  good  to  me.  I 
wish  I  could  make  you  know  how  deeply  I  appreciate 


234  GRANDMOTHER 

your  patience,  and  especially  your  willingness  to  let 
me  suffer  alone;  to  make  all  this  sorrow  mine." 

"I  believe  I  understand  you,  dear,  but  I  trust  that 
'the  end  is  not  yet.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  SPECTRE. 

"Do  you  think  the  old  man  is  a  dullard?"  in- 
quired the  Adjutant-General  of  his  assistant. 

"I'm  more  inclined  to  think  that  he's  a  detective, 
employed  by  a  party  who  has  reasons  for  avoiding 
the  police,"  replied  the  assistant. 

"What  evidence  have  you?"  inquired  the  superior 
officer. 

"The  manner  in  which  he  frequents  public  places, 
without  any  apparent  object,  save  to  watch  for  men. 
He  never  smokes,  drinks,  gambles,  or  swears;  he 
simply  sits  for  hours  at  a  stretch,  intently  watching 
each  customer  as  he  appears.  Having  fully  identi- 
fied them  all,  he  quietly  disappears  and  seeks  a  posi- 
tion in  a  new  locality.  He  was  over  a  month  in  that 
gambling  den  of  Blodget's,  which  the  police  scat- 
tered last  week.  The  toughs  kicked  him  out;  still 
he  persisted,  and  they  finally  gave  him  a  seat  in  the 
hall,  where  he  sat  staring  at  each  stranger  until  he 
removed  his  hat  and  coat.  In  the  lobby  of  the  Poor 
Man's  Eating-House,  where  the  men  are  in  a  hurry, 
he  would  grab  hold  of  them  and  turn  them  half 
round,  then  civilly  beg  their  pardon.  One  inspection 
is  all  he  wants.  He  doesn't  waste  time  on  a  second 
look.  Policeman  or  vagabond,  banker  or  chimney- 
sweep, all  possess  the  same  interest  for  him,"  replied 
the  assistant. 

"Doubtless  you're  correct,"  said  the  Adjutant- 
General  of  the  Salvation  Army. 

235 


236  GRANDMOTHER 

"When  walking  on  the  street,  he'll  pass  a  man, 
and  turn  quickly  to  go  back  on  the  other  side  of  him," 
said  the  assistant,  laughing. 

"A  case  of  aberration,"  concluded  the  Adjutant 

"Rather  conclusive  evidence  that  the  old  colored 
man  is  not  concerned  about  the  actions  of  anyone," 
stated  the  assistant;  "simply  looking  for  a  certain 
man  that  he  will  recognize  by  some  earmark  when 
he  sees  him.  There  goes  his  nurse,  question  her." 

"How  is  your  patient,  Miss  Fredereka?"  inquired 
the  officer. 

"Still  flighty  and  very  weak,"  was  the  reply. 

"Where  was  he  found?  Have  you  learned  any 
facts  about  him?" 

"It  seems  that  he'd  followed  a  funeral  procession 
conducted  by  the  Masons  and  Odd  Fellows.  He'd 
been  walking  very  rapidly,  going  back  and  forth,  first 
on  one  side  of  the  parade  and  then  on  the  other,  and 
had  doubtless  fainted  from  exhaustion.  He  was 
found  unconscious  by  the  side  of  the  road  and 
brought  to  the  Salvation  Army  Hospital,"  replied 
the  nurse. 

"What  does  the  doctor  think  of  his  condition?" 
questioned  the  assistant.  "I'm  interested  in  him." 

"It  acts  like  a  sunstroke,  though  the  doctor  thinks 
he  will  recover,"  said  Miss  Fredereka. 

"I  hope  so,"  added  the  officer.  "Such  faithful- 
ness to  a  purpose  deserves  its  reward.  Could  you 
gather  any  information  from  his  wanderings?" 

"I  could  only  distinguish  the  letters,  D.  V.  But 
toward  morning  he  was  quite  rational  for  a  little 
while,  and  told  me  that  he  had  been  hunting  for  a 
man  who  had  only  one  ear.  He  has  gone  from  place 
to  place,  in  the  grog-shops  and  saloons,  in  China- 
town, over  at  the  Italian  quarters,  among  the  Jews 
and  other  foreigners,"  she  stated  interestedly. 

"I'll  wager  you've  promised  to  continue  his  search, 
in  case  he  dies,"  said  the  officer,  kindly. 


GRANDMOTHER  237 

"Perhaps.  He's  to  tell  me  all  about  it  when  he's 
stronger." 

"His  man  may  be  dead,"  suggested  the  assistant. 

"Uncle  Henry  believes  that  he  is  not,  because  his 
life  is  necessary  for  some  great  retribution,"  averred 
the  nurse. 

"I've  been  working  with  the  army  a  long  time,  and 
we  do  occasionally  find  an  imposter,"  asserted  the 
officer. 

"I've  been  with  the  army  nearly  twenty  years  and 
I've  never  seen  the  righteous  forsaken,"  replied  the 
nurse. 

"But  you  have,  occasionally,  been  mistaken  in 
those  whom  you  thought  were  righteous,"  persisted 
the  officer,  blandly. 

"When  I  was  young,"  said  Fredereka,  smiling, 
"I  had  faith  in  every  one.  I  have  learned  to  dis- 
tinguish between  the  good  and  the  near-good;  the 
bad  and  the  near-bad." 

Days  and  weeks  passed.  The  voices  of  spring 
were  hushed  in  the  heat  of  the  summer  sun;  scantily 
clothed  children  rolled  out  on  the  sidewalks;  crowded 
tenements  opened  up  for  ventilation;  buildings  took 
on  new,  dry  colors,  and  the  air  was  vibrant  with 
outdoor  life. 

"Where've  you  been,  Uncle  Henry?  I've  not 
given  you  permission  to  go  out  yet.  You're  not 
strong  enough.  And  here  I've  sat  up  until  nearly 
twelve  o'clock,"  scolded  Miss  Fredereka. 

Henry,  trembling  and  shaking,  fell  into  a  chair 
near  his  cot. 

"Ah,  Miss  Fredereka,  I've  done  seen  a  sure 
'nough  ghost,"  said  the  old  man. 

"You're  not  well,  Uncle  Henry,  and  your  im- 
agination got  the  better  of  you,"  replied  the  nurse. 
"There  are  no  such  things  as  ghosts." 

Henry  shook  his  head.  "I  got  powerful  restless, 
an'  just  started  to  take  a  little  walk.  The  moon 


238  GRANDMOTHER 

was  bright  an'  I  ca'culated  that  I  could  see  plainer 
if  I  got  a  little  ways  out  from  the  city.  You  see, 
Miss  Fred'reka,  I  told  you  as  how  I  could  look  at 
the  moon  an'  know  that  my  Misses,  the  Grand- 
mother, could  look  at  the  same  object.  An'  when  I 
get  homesick  for  the  old  place,  I  just  go  out  an'  look 
at  the  moon." 

"And  did  you  see  the  ghost  in  the  moon?"  queried 
the  nurse. 

"Sure,  law!  No,  Miss  Fred'reka,  I  was  a  walkin' 
'long  by  the  cemetery;  an'  just  as  I  looked  over  to- 
ward the  hill  that  comes  down  back  of  them  tall 
marbles,  I  seen  a  man,  powerful  tall.  Leastwise,  I 
thought  he  was  a  man.  He  was  swingin'  his  long 
arms,  an'  his  long  white  hair  was  a  streamin'  in  the 
wind;  an'  he  has  a  beard  like  Aaron's  beard  that 
come  clean  down  to  the  edge  of  his  garments,  with 
dew  on  it.  Yes,  sir;  Miss  Fred'reka,  I  sure  'nough 
seen  just  such  a  man  a  comin'  down  that  hill,  power- 
ful fast.  All  to  once  he  run  up  to  a  big  gravestone 
and  swung  his  long  arms  up  an'  down;  an'  then, 
pretty  soon,  he  screamed  a  powerful  strange,  wailin' 
moan  that  made  the  chills  go  up  an'  down  my  back, 
an'  took  all  the  kink  out  of  my  hair.  Sure !  Miss 
Fred'reka,  it  done  stood  up  straight  as  an  Injun's. 
My  knees  knocked  together  so  as  I  couldn't  move. 
Then  everything  was  still  like,  an'  the  groanin'  got 
softer  an'  softer;  an'  I  kept  my  eye  straight  on  that 
tall  man.  The  moon  come  out  from  behind  a  cloud, 
an'  sure,  Miss  Fred'reka,  just  while  I  was  lookin' 
right  at  that  man,  he  was  gone  !" 

"Like  a  flash  he  vanished,  did  he?"  added  the 
nurse. 

"Sure !  it  was  no  man.  It  was  a  real  live  ghost," 
.  persisted  Henry. 

"But  if  he  were  alive  he  would  not  be  a  ghost," 
laughed  the  nurse. 

"When  a  bad  man  dies,"  said  Henry,  "I  'low  his 


GRANDMOTHER  239 

soul  comes  back  to  haunt  the  earth.  When  he  is 
movin'  round,  he  sure  is  'live.  When  he  disappears, 
he  sure  is  dead.  'If  he  expurgates  his  sins,'  our 
old  preacher  say,  *de  Lord  let  him  rest  in  peace.' 
That's  the  why  folks  be  'fraid  o'  ghosts.  Leastways, 
maybe  I  don't  know  much  for  sure,"  soliloquized 
Henry,  still  nervous  over  his  experience. 

"If  you  will  obey  orders  and  not  go  out  for  sev- 
eral days,  I'll  have  the  matter  investigated  and  find 
your  live  ghost  some  night;  but  the  recovery  of  your 
health  and  the  continuation  of  your  special  mission 
is  of  more  importance  to  you,"  said  the  nurse. 

Fredereka  Lewis  was  too  anxious  for  the  old  ne- 
gro to  get  sufficiently  strong  to  begin  his  quest  for 
the  missing  man,  to  endanger  his  health  by  risking 
another  trip  to  the  graveyard;  so  she  secured  the 
company  of  the  bravest  one  of  the  nurses,  and  fol- 
lowing Uncle  Henry's  directions,  went  out  near  the 
cemetery.  Having  secreted  themselves  in  a  comfort- 
able place  behind  some  shrubbery,  they  watched  for 
the  appearance  of  the  live  ghost.  They  thought  it 
probable  that  some  one  was  haunting  the  tombs  for 
pillage;  boys  had  been  known  to  exchange  flowers 
and  ribbons,  stolen  from  the  graves,  for  cigarettes. 
It  would  require  only  a  little  imagination  to  make  a 
prowling  boy  a  ghost  among  the  tombstones.  The 
bravest  will  experience  uncanny  sensations  in  watch- 
ing a  graveyard  at  night,  when  the  moon  turns  every 
shadow  into  a  moving  object,  and  the  white  stones 
reflect  a  different  face  with  each  passing  cloud.  The 
two  women  were  nervously  conversing  in  an  under- 
tone, when  Fredereka  caught  her  companion  by  the 
hand,  and  they  held  their  breath  and  gazed  out  over 
the  cemetery.  From  the  centre  of  the  tall,  dark  hill 
that  towered  back  of  the  city  of  the  dead,  there 
emerged  an  object.  The  old  colored  man  was  not 
mistaken.  The  live  ghost,  with  long  limbs  and  fly- 
ing hair  and  beard,  came  rapidly  down  the  hill.  He 


240  GRANDMOTHER 

wandered  on,  turning  first  in  one  direction  and  then 
the  other,  when,  suddenly,  he  made  for  the  centre 
of  the  grounds  and  stood  a  moment  before  a  large 
monument  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  The  grave  was 
up  on  a  little  hillock,  which  made  the  cross  and  the 
strange  apparition  stand  out  distinctly.  The  girls 
watched  and  listened,  trembling  but  afraid  to  move, 
convinced,  yet  doubting  their  own  vision.  He  waved 
his  arms  and  clasped  the  body  of  the  cross  to  his 
breast,  and  the  unearthly  wails  that  he  sent  forth 
might  have  come  from  Dante's  "Inferno" :  "There 
shrieks  are  heard  and  lamentations,  moans."  Then, 
under  the  light  of  the  full  moon,  he  speedily  dis- 
appeared. The  earth  seemed  to  open  and  swallow 
him,  as  when  Moses  commanded  and  Korah  was 
engulfed. 

The  girls  were  never  quite  able  to  understand  how 
they  got  back  to  the  city.  A  few  nights  later,  in 
company  with  two  young  men,  they  occupied  the 
same  retired  spot  and  watched  for  the  appearance 
and  disappearance  of  the  live  ghost,  and  witnessed 
the  same  mysterious  performance.  The  intention 
had  been  to  follow  the  spectre  and  learn  how  it  van- 
ished. But  a  threatening  rain-cloud  made  a  legiti- 
mate excuse  for  hurrying  home,  and  purporting  a 
daylight  visit  to  examine  the  tomb.  Half  a  dozen 
went  out;  but  there  were  no  marks  of  the  human, 
and  no  revelations  of  the  supernatural.  The  report 
of  a  ghost  spread  through  the  city,  and,  night  after 
night,  curious  crowds  haunted  the  outskirts  of  the 
cemetery,  enlightened  by  imagination  and  strength- 
ened by  confabulation.  Consequently  the  tales 
brought  back  were  contradictory  and  unreliable ;  and, 
doubtless,  such  promiscuity  was  disgusting  to  a  re- 
spectable ghost.  However  that  may  be,  the  inter- 
est waned,  and  the  variety-loving  Americans  turned 
in  pursuit  of  new  amusements. 

Uncle  Henry,  dominated  by  the  perplexities  of  his 


GRANDMOTHER  441 

own  secret,  morbidly  connected  it  with  this  new 
mystery.  During  the  weeks  of  his  illness  he  had 
forgotten  to  send  to  the  post-office  and  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  him  had  been  returned.  Left  without 
money,  he  asked  for  work  in  the  hospital.  There 
was  not  much  that  he  could  do,  though  he  faithfully 
made  an  effort  to  be  useful. 

"Uncle  Henry,"  said  Fredereka,  coming  into  the 
ward  where  the  old  colored  man  was  fanning  a  sick 
boy,  "I  want  to  make  a  bargain  with  you." 

"Sure,  Miss  Fredereka,  I'm  agreed,"  replied 
Uncle  Henry. 

"If  I  give  you  something  very  nice,  will  you  do 
as  I  request?" 

"Ain't  I  always  'bedient  to  your  commands?"  in- 
quired the  old  man. 

"Yes;  you're  all  right.  Here's  the  letter  you've 
been  expecting,  and,  if  it  contains  money,  we  simply 
don't  want  you  to  start  home  until  some  of  these 
poor  sufferers  are  out  of  the  way.  That  last  train- 
wreck  is  giving  us  a  dozen  more  bruised  and  mangled 
people  to  wait  on,  and  we  can't  spare  you." 

Fredereka  Lewis  gave  the  old  man  a  letter.  It 
contained  fifty  dollars  in  bills  and  four  pages  of 
letter-paper  written  over  in  a  plain,  smooth  chirog- 
raphy,  which  was  well  sprinkled  with  tears  before 
Uncle  Henry  had  finished  reading  it.  Then,  he 
folded  the  five-dollar  bills  separately  and  put  them 
in  different  pockets,  reasoning  that  if  he  was  robbed 
in  one  pocket,  the  others  might  escape.  Experience 
had  proved  the  prudence  of  his  plan.  He  offered 
to  pay  twenty-five  dollars  for  his  board  and  care 
while  ill  in  the  hospital;  but  it  was  refused. 

"  'After  many  days,'  D.  V.,"  murmured  Henry. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Uncle  Henry?  You  were 
always  calling  on  Grandmother,  and  saying  'D.  V.' 
when  you  were  delirious,"  said  Fredereka. 

"Grandmother  is  my  old  Mistress.    The  children 


242  GRANDMOTHER 

an'  the  neighbor's  children,  they  all  call  her  Grand- 
mother. All  her  future  is  planned,  D.  V.  All  the 
past  accepted,  'cause  it  come,  D.  V.,"  explained 
Uncle  Henry. 

"The  doctor  said  D.  V.  stood  for  the  latin,  Deo 
Volente,  the  Lord  Willing,"  stated  Fredereka. 

"Sure.  The  Lord  willing,  this  here  boy  will  get 
well,  an'  we  can  send  him  home  to  his  mother,  an' 
he  will  never  run  away  any  more."  He  smiled  at 
the  boy  as  he  wakened  from  a  long  sleep.  The  little 
fellow  had  played  truant  from  school  and  been  run 
over  by  an  automobile. 

"Good-bye,  boy;  I'm  glad  you're  better.  I  must 
hasten  away.  I'm  detailed  to  carry  some  medicine 
to  a  sick  man  on  the  hill  back  of  the  Catholic  ceme- 
tery, and  I  must  find  a  man  to  go  out  and  care  for 
him,"  said  the  nurse,  as  she  arranged  the  boy's  pil- 
lows so  he  would  rest  comfortably. 

"Please,  Miss  Fredereka,  let  me  go  with  you?" 
asked  Henry. 

"You  can't  walk  fast  and  we  must  hurry  to  get 
back  before  dark,"  the  nurse  answered. 

"I'd  like  powerful  well  to  go,"  urged  Henry; 
"  Tears  like  I  got  to  go." 

"Come  on,  then.  I'll  carry  the  basket  of  food, 
and  you  the  medicine,"  said  Fredereka,  smiling. 

"Powerful  obliged  to  you."  The  old  man  rose  at 
once,  called  a  girl  to  take  his  place  by  the  cot,  nodded 
his  head  to  the  boy,  and  went  softly  out  with  the 
head  nurse. 

There  are  two  main  roads  that  lead  south  from 
the  city.  One  branches  southwest  past  the  Catholic 
and  Masonic  cemeteries;  the  other,  southeast,  is  sep- 
arated from  a  view  of  the  graveyards  by  a  hill,  or 
cluster  of  great  and  small  hills.  In  early  days,  a 
number  of  fine  residences,  a  church,  a  small  bank 
building,  and  an  amusement-hall  looked  down  on 
the  growing  city  from  these  picturesque  heights.  A 


GRANDMOTHER  243 

great  fire  had  destroyed  the  dwellings,  and  the  other 
houses  had  been  neglected  or  torn  down.  All  that 
remained  of  the  bank  was  the  vault,  which  had  been 
built  into  the  hillside.  It  made  a  very  good  basement 
kitchen,  or  cellar.  A  one-room  cottage  had  been 
put  up  in  front  of  the  old  vault,  and,  into  it  Fred- 
ereka  and  Henry  entered  with  their  Salvation  Army 
supplies  for  the  sick  man.  A  table  stood  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  room;  two  cane-bottom  chairs  were  near 
the  window,  a  clock  ticked  on  the  shelf.  In  the  cor- 
ner was  an  old-fashioned  corded  bedstead  with 
straw-filled  bedtick.  A  quilt,  pieced  after  the  pat- 
tern of  the  "ocean  wave,"  faded  and  worn,  dis- 
played the  various  colors  of  the  scraps  left  from 
dresses  of  the  child.  Fredereka  knew  at  once  that 
a  loving  mother's  hand  had  pieced  the  quilt,  and 
the  knowledge  might  give  her  the  key  to  the  man's 
confidence.  The  moaning  from  under  the  cover  was 
not  pleasant  to  hear,  and  the  nurse  gently  turned 
back  the  spread.  As  she  did  so,  she  drew  back  with 
a  start  and  looked  toward  Uncle  Henry,  whose  eyes 
were  riveted  on  his  live  ghost. 

"Sit  down,  Uncle  Henry.  Remember,  D.  V.,  it 
will  be  all  right,"  said  Fredereka,  with  a  forced  se- 
verity in  her  tone  that  was  necessary  to  strengthen 
his  trembling  old  body. 

"Mr.  Adams,"  spoke  the  girl.  The  man  opened 
his  eyes  but  did  not  move.  He  was  lying  with  his 
face  resting  on  one  hand. 

"The  doctor  has  sent  us  with  some  medicine  and 
food  for  you.  He  said  your  name  was  Adams." 

"What  doctor?"  mumbled  the  man,  glaring  at  her 
with  angry  eyeballs. 

"The  doctor  from  the  Salvation  Army  hospital. 
He  picked  you  up  in  the  ravine  last  week  and  brought 
you  home.  Don't  you  remember  of  telling  him  that 
you  were  trying  to  crawl  up  to  your  house?"  The 
sweet  tone  and  the  army-nurse  influence  subdued  his 


244  GRANDMOTHER 

anger,  and  he  remained  quiet.  She  continued  :  "The 
doctor  said  your  clothes  were  wet  through;  you  must 
have  some  clean  garments  or  your  fever  will  in- 
crease, and,  perhaps,  serious  trouble  result." 

Henry  began  to  tremble.  To  touch  the  man  was 
as  much  as  he  could  do.  He  would  run  home  rather 
than  remain  alone  in  the  room  with  him. 

Comprehending  the  situation  and  understanding 
the  negro's  dread  and  anxiety,  the  nurse  added: 
"I'll  help  dress  you  after  Henry  has  bathed  you  and 
brushed  your  hair.  While  he's  doing  that  I'll  wash 
this  front  window."  The  window  did  not  need  it; 
for  everything  about  the  room  was  clean  and  in 
order. 

Henry  timidly  approached  the  bed  and  essayed  to 
remove  the  quilt ;  but  the  invalid  held  on  to  it. 

"Better  hang  it  in  the  sun  to  air,  an'  let  me  put 
this  blanket  over  you,"  advised  the  colored  man. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

Fredereka  came  near  and  said:  "You  must  have 
your  clothes  changed.  If  we  don't  get  you  nice  and 
comfortable,  the  Doctor  will  censure  us." 

"Doctor?"  he  demanded  savagely. 

"The  Salvation  Army  physician.  We  work  under 
his  orders.  This  is  a  pretty  patchwork  quilt.  It  is 
called  the  ocean  wave.  I  have  one  like  it.  My 
mother  made  it  for  me.  I  suspect  your  mother 
pieced  this  for  you.  That's  why  you  love  it,  and 
don't  want  to  sleep  under  any  other."  His  face 
softened  and  his  eyes  grew  moist.  "I'd  like  to  put 
it  in  the  sun  by  the  window.  You  may  have  it  again." 
She  removed  the  quilt  gently  and  motioned  to  Henry 
to  get  to  work. 

The  hospital  training  enabled  the  colored  man  to 
accomplish  the  changes  with  little  fatigue  to  the  pa- 
tient and  the  bed  was  soon  made  comfortable.  The 
muddy  garments  were  carried  out  and  Henry  began 
the  more  unpleasant  task  of  combing  the  long,  gray 


GRANDMOTHER  245 

hair.  He  had  smoothed  out  one  side  and  turned 
the  sick  man's  face  toward  the  wall  that  he  might 
more  conveniently  brush  the  other  side.  Fredereka, 
busily  arranging  the  provisions  on  the  little  table,  had 
stepped  to  the  door  to  fill  a  glass  with  water  from 
a  pail  outside;  but  it  dropped  from  her  fingers  and 
splashed  back  into  the  water,  and  her  whole  being 
thrilled  through  and  through  at  the  sound  of  Uncle 
Henry's  voice. 

In  surprised,  exultant,  glorified,  yet  subdued  tones, 
he  murmured:  UD.  V.,  Grandmother,  D.  V." 

Fredereka  came  to  the  bed.  The  old  negro  was 
supporting  himself  against  the  wall,  with  hands 
clasped  as  in  prayer,  and  eyes  gazing  up  at  heaven. 
The  shaggy,  gray  hair  was  drawn  back  from  the  in- 
valid's face,  exposing  a  peculiar  scar  just  back  of 
the  jaw.  The  long-sought-for  man  was  found  at 
last. 

"What's  the  ado?"  asked  Luke  Adams. 

"Uncle  Henry  is  very  religious,  Mr.  Adams,"  be- 
gan Fredereka,  "and  often  prays." 

That  seemed  to  satisfy  him ;  but,  presently  he  said : 
"I  pray  to  the  Virgin  Mother.  Didn't  he  say,  Grand- 
mother?" 

Henry  seemed  metamorphosed  from  the  timid  old 
man  to  youth,  strength,  and  happiness.  He  caressed 
the  capillose  head  tenderly,  lovingly,  and  grinned  as 
he  replied: 

"I  can  pray  an'  give  thanks  to  Virgins,  Mothers, 
an'  Grandmothers,  an'  all  the  saints  in  glory.  Just 
you  take  your  medicine  an'  eat  a  bite.  We're  goin' 
to  get  you  well."  Henry  knew  what  he  was  working 
for  now.  All  fear,  or  superstition,  had  gone  with 
his  discovery. 

The  nurse  fixed  the  medicine,  and  Henry  saw  that 
it  was  swallowed.  In  the  vault  or  cellar,  a  little 
oilstove  was  found  on  which  she  made  coffee,  and 
the  man  ate  supper  and  felt  revived  and  more  willing 


246  GRANDMOTHER 

to  talk.  Henry  begged  to  remain  all  night.  After 
years  of  strenuous  effort  he  dared  not  lose  sight  of 
his  man;  so  a  blanket  was  spread  down  on  the  floor 
and  a  coat  rolled  up  for  a  pillow.  The  next  morn- 
ing, a  cot  and  necessary  comforts  were  sent  up  from 
the  hospital.  The  man,  Luke  Adams,  was  weak  and 
exhausted  in  mind  and  body,  and  submitted  passively 
to  their  plans.  In  a  few  days  Uncle  Henry  was  se- 
curely established  in  the  queer  cottage  on  the  hill. 
All  that  he  could  learn  from  his  charge  was  that  he 
had  a  task  to  finish;  that  done  and  he  was  ready 
to  die.  He  could  not  be  coaxed  into  telling  about 
himself.  Night  after  night,  he  grew  more  and  more 
restless,  and  at  last  demanded  of  the  doctor  to  know 
the  worst  of  his  condition.  When  told  that  one 
limb  was  paralyzed  so  that  he  might  not  be  able  to 
walk  again,  he  tore  his  hair  and  raved  wildly.  Help- 
less and  exhausted  he  was  forced  to  listen  to  the 
advice  of  the  old  negro. 

"You  just  got  to  get  strong  as  you  can,  an'  maybe 
I  can  help  you  to  walk  a  little,"  he  said  soothingly. 

"Will  you  help  me  down  to  that  big  cross  in  the 
Catholic  cemetery?"  asked  Luke  Adams,  anxiously. 

"Fetch  you  down  there?"  asked  Henry,  startled. 
"You  couldn't  get  back;  I  couldn't  tote  you  up  the 
hill." 

"I'll  get  back.  Will  you  take  me  down?"  pleaded 
the  man. 

"I'll  go  look  over  the  hill  an'  see  how  far  'tis," 
said  Henry. 

He  went  out  and  walked  up  over  a  ridge  from 
where  he  could  look  down  on  the  city  of  white  monu- 
ments. The  air  was  balmy  and  invigorating  and  he 
thought  of  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  ghost, 
and  wondered  if  he  could  solve  the  mystery  by  carry- 
ing Luke  Adams  to  the  tomb.  Before  he  would 
promise  to  carry  him  down  the  hill,  he  would  require 


GRANDMOTHER  247 

him  to  give  up  his  secret  and  explain  the  task  he 
had  to  accomplish.  Henry  was  "powerfully"  afraid 
of  the  cemetery;  but  the  success  of  his  long  quest  was 
a  stronger  passion  than  fear.  He  knew,  too,  that  he 
could  pack  the  man  up  the  hill;  for  he  was  not  much 
more  than  skin  and  bones. 

Returning  to  the  cottage  and  pulling  a  chair  near 
the  bed  he  said:  "I  want  to  ask  you  a  question, 
Marse  Luke  Adams.  Nights,  when  you  think  I'm 
asleep,  what  are  you  groaning  about?" 

"I  want  to  get  up  and  walk,"  sputtered  the  man. 

"Sure!  You  are  pow'ful  anxious  to  walk,  an' 
you  pow'ful  troubled  'bout  what  you  done  long  time 
ago,"  said  Henry,  sympathetically. 

"How  do  you  know?  Have  I  been  delirious?" 
asked  Adams,  alarmed. 

"I  won't  tell  nothin'.  You  can  trust  me  like  a 
priest,"  said  Henry,  uncertainly. 

"Priest!  God  knows  my  sentence  is  long  and 
hard,  and  it  may  be  purgatory  in  the  end,"  moaned 
Adams. 

"Sure,  powerful  sure,  the  good  Lord  knows  it 
all."  Henry's  nerves  were  taut.  He  feared  the 
conversation  would  end  abruptly  as  it  had  done  on 
other  nights  when  he  was  near  to  touching  the  secret 
spring  of  the  man's  life. 

After  some  moments  had  elapsed,  Adams  asked: 
"What  have  you  heard  me  talking  about?" 

"Uncle  Henry  is  honorable,  he  don't  eavedrop," 
said  the  colored  man,  aggrieved. 

"You  couldn't  help  hearing  over  on  your  cot, 
when  you're  awake  and  I'm  a  dreaming.  What  do 
you  know?  I'm  not  mad  about  it.  You're  a  friend 

to  me,  and  you're  going  to  be  legs  to  me.  So  I 

What  do  you  know,  blast  it?  What  are  you  taking 
care  of  me  for?"  urged  the  paralytic. 

"The  Salvation  Army  works  for  the  Master,"  said 
Henry,  solemnly. 


248  GRANDMOTHER 

"They  work  and  ask  no  questions.  You've  been 
trying  to  pump  me  all  the  time.  I'm  no  fool."  A 
flicker  of  a  smile  came  into  Adams'  eyes. 

"Lord  forgive  me  for  pryin'  into  a  sick  man's 
secrets,"  prayed  Henry,  with  feeling. 

"What  secrets?"  demanded  Adams.  "What  do 
you  know?" 

Henry  made  the  experiment  that  Miss  Fredereka 
had  suggested.  "I  know  how  you  love  that  old 
mother,  an'  how  you  hate  that  other  doctor." 

First  tears,  then  a  burning  flash  of  anger  shot 
from  Adams'  eyes.  "She  loved  the  devil  who  ruined 
her.  Poor  mother!  poor  mother!  Henry,  carry  me 
to  the  tomb,  I  must  go.  It's  for  her  sake  that  I 
must  go,"  he  begged.  "Let  my  soul  be  damned  so 
she  may  pass  from  purgatory." 

"Now,  see  here,  Marse  Adams.  Just  you  get 
quiet  an'  listen  to  this  old  Baptist  nigger.  There 
ain't  no  purgatory  'cept  on  the  earth.  Your  old 
mammy  has  been  all  the  time  in  the  busom  of  the 
Lord,  an'  you  been  wastin'  a  powerful  lot  of  time 
grievin'  for  her.  Your  own  sins  're  all  you  need  to 
'tend  to.  An'  that  wicked  doctor "  Henry  hesi- 
tated, wondering  if  he  was  dead.  "What  he 
done "  Still  he  hesitated. 

"I  promised  mother  on  her  death-bed  that  I'd 
never  tell  on  him;  and,  because  I  refused  to  confess 
it  to  the  priest,  I've  got  this  awful  penance  to  per- 
form," groaned  Adams. 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Henry,  sympathetically,  not  in 
the  least  comprehending  what  Adams  had  admitted. 

"Are  you  going  to  carry  me  to  the  tomb?"  de- 
manded Adams.  Getting  no  reply,  he  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall  and  refused  to  talk. 

Henry  looked  out  on  the  still  night,  at  the  waning 
moon  and  myriad  stars,  and  out  over  the  city,  where 
the  lights  and  noise  and  smoke  of  animated  nature 
and  living  beings  gave  marrow  to  the  bone  and 


GRANDMOTHER  249 

strength  to  the  heart.  Then  he  walked  over  the  lit- 
tle hillside  and  again  looked  down  on  the  slumber- 
ing city  of  the  dead.  With  both  in  view  the  con- 
glomeration of  sonorific  sound  on  the  right,  the  soli- 
tary, sepulchral  silence  on  the  left,  he  deliberated. 
Outside  the  city,  on  the  road  that  leads  past  the 
cemetery,  were  the  quarters  of  the  Salvation  Army. 
To  keep  their  nearness  uppermost  in  his  mind,  would 
strengthen  his  nerve  and  sustain  his  courage  to  the 
daring  feat  of  solving,  at  once  and  alone,  the  mys- 
tery of  the  evanescent  ghost. 

He  returned  to  the  cottage,  and,  lighting  the  can- 
dle, went  into  the  vault,  which  was  used  both  for  a 
clothes-press  and  a  cellar.  He  got  a  pair  of  trous- 
ers and  a  linen  coat,  and  came  to  the  bed.  Adams 
was  now  watching  him,  his  eyes  radiant  with  joy. 
Beard  and  hair  so  covered  his  face  that  the  organs 
of  vision  were  the  only  index  of  his  emotions.  Now 
they  shone  with  a  strange,  unnatural  fire  that  almost 
shook  Henry  out  of  his  resolution  to  carry  him 
to  the  cross.  As  the  old  quilt  was  laid  back  Adams 
patted  it  lovingly,  and  submitted  nervously  to  the 
dressing.  He  was  elated  over  the  prospect,  and  im- 
patient to  be  on  the  way.  With  his  arms  around 
Henry's  neck,  his  breast  on  his  back,  and  the  negro's 
hands  clasped  under  his  trouser  seat,  they  started 
over  the  hill. 

"What'll  you  be  taken  for?"  asked  Luke  Adams. 
"Croesus  with  a  bag  of  gold,  or  old  Peter  Piper  with 
his  stolen  sheep?" 

"Ghosts,"  panted  Henry. 

"Wonder  if  any  one  took  me  for  a  ghost?"  asked 
Adams,  interestedly. 

"That  was  when  I  first  made  your  acquaintance," 
panted  Henry.  "Crowds  come  out  to  see  you." 

"And  got  disappointed.  I  saw  them,  but  didn't 
know  they  were  looking  for  me.  I  was  sick,  got  too 
wet,  took  cold,  and,  now,  these  legs.  I  guess  the 


250  GRANDMOTHER 

Lord  sent  you  to  lend  me  your  legs.  Can  you  hold 
out?  Am  I  very  heavy?"  He  began  to  grow  nerv- 
ous. 

The  trip  was  accomplished  with  difficulty.  A  bar 
in  the  iron  fence  around  the  cemetery,  which  Adams 
had  fixed  to  slip  out  to  admit  him,  had  become  rusty 
and  required  a  good  deal  of  kicking  to  work  it  loose. 
But  the  man  was  at  last  put  down  on  the  grassy 
mound  in  front  of  the  tomb,  above  which  stood  the 
large  white  cross.  Henry  stepped  back  and  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"Now  you  go  home,"  ordered  Luke  Adams. 

Henry  stood  dumfounded.  Home;  and  leave  a 
man  who  could  not  walk  a  step  or  even  stand  on  his 
feet!  All  his  superstitious  horror  of  ghosts  came 
back  to  him.  Go  home  and  let  the  man  disappear 
and  come  up  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth  and 
greet  him  in  his  bed! 

"Go,"   again  Adams  commanded. 

Henry  went  back  toward  the  road  with  a  half- 
conceived  idea  of  watching  him  from  a  distance. 
Adams,  twisting  his  neck,  saw  him  and  begged  him 
to  leave  him  alone  for  an  hour.  Henry  moved  far- 
ther away,  but  still  could  see  him.  From  his  half- 
sitting  attitude,  Adams  lifted  his  long  arms  wildly, 
and,  as  he  pointed  to  the  crown  above  the  cross,  he 
seemed  to  be  rising  out  of  the  earth  in  a  supernatural 
form.  The  negro  could  stand  no  more,  and  took  to 
his  heels  and  ran  for  the  road.  Before  he  reached 
the  gate,  he  heard  the  old  wailing  lamentation,  and, 
as  he  climbed  the  high  fence  he  glanced  back,  and 
saw  the  arms  outspread,  then  drop,  and  the  man  dis- 
appear. Henry  did  not  stop  until  he  reached  the 
barracks. 

Fredereka  Lewis  was  out,  and,  not  wishing  to  con- 
fide in  any  other,  he  asked  for  a  place  to  rest,  not 
expecting  to  sleep.  But  the  calm  and  peace  of  his 
surroundings,  aided  by  his  physical  exhaustion,  im- 


GRANDMOTHER  251 

prisoned  his  mind  in  slumber.  With  the  coming  of 
daylight,  came  the  feeling  of  abject  disgust  with  him- 
self, that  he  should  have  lost  the  opportunity  of 
solving  the  mystery  of  the  tomb,  and  forsaken  the 
man  before  he  had  secured  the  information  that  he 
knew  he  possessed.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
he  procured  some  of  the  daily  provisions  and  re- 
turned to  the  cottage.  There  were  no  signs  of  any 
one  having  been  there  before  him.  Thanking  the 
good  Lord  that  the  weather  was  fair,  he  returned  to 
the  city  and  found  Miss  Fredereka  and  told  her  all 
that  he  had  done.  Together,  they  went  to  the  ceme- 
tery; but  no  one  was  there.  Ascending  the  hill  by 
the  path  that  Henry  had  carried  the  sick  man  down, 
they  found  no  traces  of  him;  the  inside  of  the  cot- 
tage was  undisturbed.  The  old  servant  was  so  dis- 
tressed and  conscience-stricken  that  he  opened  his 
heart  to  the  nurse  and  asked  her  to  help  him;  he 
told  her  why  he  had  hunted  for  the  man  and  what  he 
wished  to  find  out.  She  was  deeply  interested.  Sud- 
denly their  colloquy  was  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  a  familiar  moan.  They  sprang  out  of  the  door 
together  and  found  Luke  Adams  a  few  yards  from 
the  house.  Henry  carried  him  in  and  laid  him  on 
the  bed.  His  clothes  had  the  appearance  of  his  hav- 
ing passed  through  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  though 
no  aperture  in  the  ground  was  discoverable. 

The  doctor's  call,  in  the  afternoon,  dispelled  all 
hope  of  recovery,  and  the  old  negro  began  again 
to  probe  the  man's  past.  He  sat  by  his  bed  and  pa- 
tiently waited  for  returning  vitality.  Slow,  quiet 
breathing  was  the  only  evidence  of  life.  He  lay  like 
one  physically  and  mentally  exhausted.  One  long, 
bony  hand  crept  from  under  the  quilt,  and  the  index- 
finger  pointed  to  a  place  on  the  wall  opposite.  Henry 
looked  and  could  see  nothing.  The  insistency  of  the 
eyes  compelled  him  to  go  and  examine  closely.  There 
on  the  white  plaster  near  the  window,  were  seven 


252  GRANDMOTHER 

columns  of  figures.  Each  line  beginning  with  one 
and  going  straight  down,  marked  the  numerals  to  one 
hundred.  Six  columns  were  complete.  The  seventh 
column  began  with  one  and  continued  to  ninety-eight. 
On  a  nail  in  the  window-frame  hung  a  pencil  tied  to 
a  string.  Henry  concluded  that  the  pencil  was  kept 
there  to  add  each  number  as  circumstances  indicated. 
He  took  the  pencil  and  looked  at  Adams,  who  tried 
to  speak.  His  voice  was  so  weak  that  Fredereka 
could  barely  distinguish,  "nine,  nine." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  mark  down  ninety-nine?" 
asked  Henry. 

Adams  nodded. 

Henry  put  it  down  and  remarked:  "One  more 
an'  you  will  have  seven  columns  of  one  hundred 
each." 

The  man's  eyes  brightened  in  pleasurable  antici- 
pation, and  he  whispered:  "Once  more,  carry  me 
to  the  cross." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  have  gone  to  that  tomb 
in  the  grave-yard  six  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
times?"  asked  Fredereka,  in  amazement. 

Something  like  a  smile  flickered  through  Luke 
Adams'  eyes  as  he  assented,  and  whispered:  "Once 
more,  take  me  to  the  cross  once  more." 

The  pleading  pathos  of  his  eyes  affected  Henry's 
nerves,  and  he  rushed  out  of  the  room.  As  he 
walked  up  and  down  before  the  door  with  the  set- 
ting sun  laughing  in  his  face,  light  dawned  on  his 
muddled  brain.  He  approached  the  bed  gently,  sat 
down,  and  stroked  the  long  fingers,  and  cleared  his 
throat.  Tears  forced  their  way  to  the  surface,  and 
he  blew  his  nose  as  excuse  to  wipe  them  away. 

"Marse  Luke  Adams,  have  you  been  doin'  pen- 
ance for  six  hundred  years?"  he  inquired  tenderly. 

Again,  a  smile  played  about  the  man's  eyes,  but 
settled  into  gloom  as  he  whispered.  "Not  years, 


GRANDMOTHER  253 

but  times.  One  more  and  Mother  is  out  of  purga- 
tory and  I  am  absolved." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  there  ain't  no  purgatory?"  in- 
sisted Henry. 

"Are  you  wise  as  the  priest?  He  was  good  to 
Mother.  Take  me  to  the  cross,  to  the  cross,"  he 
pleaded,  in  sepulchral  whispers. 

Henry  pondered  seriously.  "You  take  this  medi- 
cine and  go  to  sleep,  so  you  can  get  strong  'nough  to 
talk." 

"Then  will  you  take  me  to  the  cross?"  pleaded 
Adams.  The  wild  eagerness  of  his  deep-set  eyes 
surrounded  by  over-hanging  gray  eyebrows  and 
white  bearded  face  was  startlingly  dramatic. 

"Sleep  first,"  persisted  Henry. 

Adams  shook  his  head  and  clutched  the  quilt  spas- 
modically. 

"I'll  take  you  down  on  conditions,"  said  Henry 
emphatically. 

Adams  closed  his  eyes  and  feigned  sleep.  Henry 
sat  in  the  door  nervously  watching  for  the  nurse, 
who  had  gone  into  the  city,  promising  to  return  be- 
fore bedtime.  Two  hours  passed  into  eternity.  He 
went  in  and  prepared  some  gruel  and  gave  it  to  the 
sick  man.  Then,  a  little  stimulant  seemed  to 
strengthen  him,  so  that  he  could  speak  aloud. 

"The  cross,  the  cross.  Carry  me  down,"  he 
begged. 

Henry  nodded  and  sat  down  by  the  bed.  "What 
made  your  priest  give  you  such  a  powerful  hard 
task?"  he  asked  timidly. 

"I  kept  my  promise  to  my  dying  mother,"  said 
Adams,  with  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  his  eyes. 

"Uh-huh,"  grunted  Henry.  "  'Cause  you  were 
faithful  to  your  pretty  ma,  you  have  been  punished." 
Henry  was  persuasive  and  sympathetic. 

"She  was  a  beauty;  but  she  died  without  confes- 


254  GRANDMOTHER 

sion,  and  the  priest  could  not  administer  extreme 
unction.  Poor  Mother,  she  loved  that  Doctor  bet- 
ter than  her  soul's  salvation.  I  swore  to  her  that 
I  would  not  betray  him.  It  was  all  the  comfort  I 
could  give  her — that,  and  the  promise  to  take  the 
child  to  him."  Adams  ceased  speaking  from  weak- 
ness and  distress,  as  he  recalled  the  last  hour  of  the 
mother  whom  he  had  loved  devotedly. 

"The  child?"  questioned  Henry,  softly. 

Adams  seemed  to  have  forgotten  about  the  child, 
but  continued:  "I  did  not  go  to  confession  for  five 
years.  I  was  a  tool  for  him;  buying  dogs,  hunting 
rats,  stealing  birds,  and  hating  him.  A  new  house 
was  built  down  by  the  road,  and  a  new  sexton  em- 
ployed. I  was  sick  here  in  our  old  home  and  he 
left  me  to  starve  and  die.  The  old  priest,  a  good 
father,  found  me  and  nursed  me  back  to  life.  I 
made  a  clean  confession  of  all,  but  the  identity  of 
the  man  who  murdered  my  mother — Poor,  dear 
mother,  her  expiation  from  purgatory  and  my  pur- 
gation could  be  accomplished  either  by  the  betrayal 
of  her  confidence  or  the  nightly  trips  to  the  tomb." 
He  sighed  wearily. 

The  colored  man  waited  patiently,  then  gently 
questioned:  "The  child.  You  took  it  to  him?" 

Adams  assented. 

"What  became  of  it?"  asked  Henry,  tremblingly. 

Adams  pointed  toward  the  cemetery. 

A  groan  of  disappointment  shook  the  old  negro's 
frame.  He  stretched  his  arms  above  his  head,  grasp- 
ing for  more  light.  When  he  looked  down  at  the 
paralytic,  the  tears  were  coursing  through  his  beard. 

"What're  you  thinking  'bout?"  asked  Henry. 

"  'Bout  a  beautiful  woman.  It  was  at  her  house 
I  went  that  night.  I  saw  her  once  at  Cedar  Park, 
when  I  was  trapping  birds.  She  gave  me  money  for 
my  sick  mother.  He  followed  her  there,  I  saw  him. 
He  didn't  see  me.  I  should  have  exposed  him  then. 


GRANDMOTHER  255 

Now,  there  is  nothing  left  but  the  cross.  Will  you 
take  me  there  to-night?  It's  the  last  thing  you  can 
do  for  me?"  he  pleaded. 

Henry  nodded.  "First,  tell  me  how  you  know 
that  the  child  is  in  the  cemetery?" 

"He  wouldn't  come  when  mother  was  sick,  he 
didn't  come  when  she  was  dead,  and  when  I  was  re- 
fused a  place  in  the  Catholic  grounds,  I  sent  to  him 
for  a  permit  to  bury  her  in  the  yard  beyond."  Adams 
paused  for  breath.  "I  wrapped  the  little  boy  in  a 
blanket  and  laid  him  in  the  basket  that  I  used  in 
secreting  the  birds  that  I  carried  to  his  office.  He 
was  not  there,  and  I  slipped  through  the  alleys  to 
the  back  of  his  house,  and  saw  him  go  in  the  back 
door  of  his  neighbor's  home.  I  followed  him." 
Again  he  stopped  to  rest.  "He  made  me  wait  in  a 
basement.  My  little  brother  got  chilled  and  I  held 
him  in  my  arms  to  warm  him.  At  last  he  came — 
gave  me  the  permit,  and  laid  a  bundle  in  the  basket. 
Then,  he  took  the  child  and  said:  'There's  a  dead 
one;  go  bury  him  in  Maria's  arms,  and  her  child 
shall  have  a  good  home  and  care.'  I  see  him  now, 
an  iron  mask  of  corruption.  Yet,  fool !  I  believed 
him.  I  imagined  my  poor  mother  pleased  and  the 
beautiful  lady  comforted.  I  hurried  home.  There, 
by  that  window,  she  lay  in  her  wooden  box.  I  put 
the  cold,  still  babe  in  her  arms  and  spread  the  quilt 
over  them.  I  sat  and  waited  for  the  sexton  and 
undertaker."  He  paused  again,  exhausted.  "They 
had  promised  to  help  me.  They  didn't  hurry  for 
a  man  like  me,  thank  the  Lord."  His  eyes  had  a 
pleading  look,  like  one  in  the  confessional. 

Henry  walked  to  the  door  to  reassure  himself  by 
a  look  at  Fredereka,  who  had  come  up  quietly  and 
remained  outside  listening  intently.  She  was  so  vio- 
lently excited  that  her  eyes  were  bulging,  her  lips 
white,  and  her  heart  throbbing. 


256  GRANDMOTHER 

Encouraged  by  her  presence,  Henry  went  back  to 
the  paralytic,  saying:  "Yes,  the  sexton  came " 

Adams  continued:  "They  started  up  the  hill.  I 
went  for  a  last  look  at  the  dear  old  face,  turned  the 
quilt  down.  There  the  little  babe  was  rooting  his 
nose  into  my  mother's  pale  cheek.  He  looked  up  at 
me  with  his  big,  brown  eyes,  and  I  grabbed  him  and 
ran  into  the  vault  and  shut  the  door;  rolled  him  in 
some  old  clothes  and  laid  him  in  the  corner.  He 
fretted  a  little;  but  I  got  outside  before  the  men 
reached  the  house.  Didn't  object  when  they  hurried 
my  poor  mother  away."  Adams  wiped  the  tears 
from  his  eyes.  "First  tears  since  that  night." 

"You  kept  the  boy?"  asked  Henry,  trembling. 

"A  few  weeks,"  he  said.  "I  found  out  that  my 
brother  was  dead,  saw  'em  bury  him  like  a  prince. 
He  was  puny  and  got  chilled  in  the  basement.  Died, 
I  guess. — I  got  attached  to  my  brown-eyed  boy. — I 
wanted  to  return  him  to  his  mother;  but  I  knew  that 
fiend  would  say  I'd  stole  him. — He  threatened  to 
turn  me  over  to  the  authorities  for  other  misde- 
meanors if  I  ever  told  I'd  been  in  the  city  that  night. 
— He  was  vicious. — I  was  'fraider  of  him  than  the 
devil  himself. — He  didn't  know  that  I  had  the  boy. 
— I  got  crazy  over  the  babe;  possessed  with  a  fear 
that  he'd  find  him,  that  he  knew  he  was  not  dead, 
and  would  take  him  away  from  me  to  his  den,  where 
he  could  experiment  on  him  and  maybe  murder  him. 
— Then  I  got  sick  and  he  nearly  starved."  With 
each  sentence  the  invalid  paused  to  gain  strength 
and  breath.  "I  got  so  scared  I  began  to  conjure 
plans  by  which  I  could  dispose  of  him. — O  Lord, 
forgive  me!  Won't  you  take  me  to  the  cross?  It'll 
be  too  late  soon,"  he  pleaded. 

"Who  was  that  mean  doctor?"  asked  Henry,  in- 
nocently. 

"Don't  ask  me  that,"  the  man  cried,  staring 
wildly.  "Tell  now,  after  these  years  of  faith  and 


GRANDMOTHER  257 

penitence?     No!"     He  threw  his  arms  up  wildly. 
"Take  me  to  the  cross." 

"Sure,  sure,  I  will.  Just  keep  quiet;  you  see  it 
ain't  near  dark.  What  did  you  do  with  the  baby?" 
urged  Henry,  gently. 

"What  good  will  it  do  you  to  know?  I'll  not  tell 
any  names.  I'll  talk  no  more,"  he  said. 

"You  didn't  promise  anything  about  that  child. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  confess  what  you  did  with 
him?"  urged  Henry,  puzzled  to  know  how  to  pro- 
ceed. He  realized  that  Luke  Adams  was  failing 
fast. 

"I  did.     I  told  the  priest,"  stated  Luke. 

"An'  now  you  are  goin'  to  confess  to  me,  an'  then 
I'll  take  you  to  the  graveyard  an'  back  again,"  Henry 
promised. 

"I  used  to  do  odd  jobs  around  the  Calvary  Church 
and  parsonage.  I  helped  crate  some  furniture  that 
was  stored  in  one  room;  heard  it  was  to  be  shipped 
to  the  widow  of  a  former  minister. — 1  remembered 
the  woman;  she  was  kind  to  my  mother.  Began 
scheming  for  a  way  to  ship  the  boy  with  her  things; 
she'd  take  care  of  him. — I'd  watched  experiments  for 
years,  and  knew  how  to  give  narcotics. — I'd  been 
making  the  babe  sleep  when  I  was  away,  so  as  no 
one  would  hear  him  cry;  I'd  trained  him  to  sleep 
all  day. — In  the  old  vault,  there  was  a  queer  iron 
box  that  was  left  when  the  bank  burned. — I  filed 
some  air-holes  in  the  top  under  the  edge,  kind  o'  out 
of  sight;  I  put  a  pillow  on  the  bottom  and  secured  it 
fast  by  riveting  leather  straps  to  the  iron. — I  put 
the  boy  in  a  sack,  and  he  kicked  and  laughed;  but 
I  fastened  the  sack  so  he  would  hang  or  lay  all  right 
if  the  box  was  upside  down  or  straight. — I  fed  him 
well  and  gave  him  a  full  dose  of  medicine. — When 
he  went  to  sleep,  my  heart  was  broke;  I  cried  more 
than  I  did  when  my  mother  died.  I  oiled  the  lock, 
made  it  fast,  laid  the  key  in  a  crack,  and  covered  it 


258  GRANDMOTHER 

with  soft  solder; — put  the  box  on  an  old  cart; — 
drove  to  the  steamboat,  and  shipped  him  to  that 
good  woman.  'Twas  a  hard  job  to  load  the  cart 
alone.  I  had  the  strength  of  a  man  crazed  with 
grief. — With  planks  and  a  pry  I  succeeded. — That's 
all.  Now  carry  me  to  the  cross  and  let  me  die." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  from  the  boy?"  asked  Henry, 
anxious  for  just  a  little  more  information. 

"I    was   afraid   to    inquire.      It   may   have   been 
dumped  in  the  river;  the  babe  dead  and  the  name  de- 
stroyed," sighed  the  sick  man. 
"Was  the  name  in  the  box?" 
"Inside,  to  the  right,  there  was  a  slip  of  black 
paper  pasted  to  the  iron;  under  it,  I  put  a  silk  band. 
His  mother's  name  was  on  it. — Now,  take  me  to  the 
cross,  take  me,  take  me,"  he  pleaded. 

"Is  the  doctor's  name  in  the  box"  timidly  ques- 
tioned Henry. 

"No;  I've  told  enough.  Take  me — as  you  prom- 
ised— to  the  cross,"  he  pleaded. 

"You  are  not  strong  enough  to  hold  on  to  my 
back.  I'll  have  to  carry  you  in  my  arms,"  said 
Henry,  making  preparations  to  gratify  his  last  de- 
sire. 

He  heard  Miss  Fredereka  moving  away,  and 
knew  she  would  have  made  the  opening  in  the  fence, 
and  be  waiting  for  them  in  the  cemetery.  They  had 
planned  that  she  was  not  to  let  the  sick  man  know  of 
her  presence  unless  it  was  necessary  to  help  get  him 
back  home.  The  night  was  clear  and  calm,  and 
only  stars  were  watching,  when  the  old  colored  man 
gently  placed  his  burden  on  his  stomach  in  front  of 
the  great  white  cross.  With  his  elbows  on  the 
ground  and  his  chin  in  his  hands,  he  appeared  to  be 
happy.  Henry  moved  back,  for  the  place  on  which 
he  stood  seemed  holy  ground.  Fredereka  came  near 
and  they  could  hear,  not  moans  and  lamentations, 
but  a  pathetic  requiem  of  peace,  of  toil  almost  ended. 


GRANDMOTHER  259 

Presently  he  drew  himself  up  to  the  tomb  and  clasped 
the  base  of  the  cross  in  his  arms,  then  gently  slid 
down  on  the  grass,  where  an  abrupt  incline  led  away 
from  the  grave.  From  any  position  east  or  north, 
he  would  seem  to  disappear  from  view  very  quickly. 
The  watchers  kept  him  in  sight. 

Lying  flat  on  his  stomach,  he  made  his  way  slowly 
down  the  ravine,  across  a  ditch,  under  a  fence,  and 
over  into  the  pauper's  ground.  Painfully  and  per- 
sistently he  kept  on,  frequently  pausing  for  strength 
and  breath. 

"We  can't  let  him  go  any  farther,  Henry;  go  offer 
to  help  him,"  advised  Fredereka. 

They  were  following  him,  and,  as  he  appeared  to 
be  resting  with  his  head  on  a  grave,  they  approached 
slowly,  and  read  the  name  on  the  slab — "Maria 
Adams" — his  mother's  grave.  They  lifted  his  head 
and  looked  into  his  face;  he  was  dead.  His  white 
hair  seemed  like  a  halo  around  his  peaceful  counte- 
ance.  From  a  path  worn  down  smooth  and  the  grass 
and  stubbles  rubbed  one  way,  it  was  evident  that  he 
had  been  going  to  the  cross  to  pray,  and  then  creep- 
ing on  his  hands  and  knees  down  the  ravine,  past 
his  mother's  grave,  and  up  the  hill  to  his  cottage. 
The  sexton  was  wakened,  and  Luke  Adams'  body 
was  carried  to  his  home  and  later  interred  by  the 
side  of  his  mother.  Uncle  Henry  took  the  pencil 
and  completed  the  column  of  numbers,  making  the 
last  one  hundred. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

REVELATIONS. 

In  the  little  grove  at  Finden,  the  autumn  leaves 
were  falling  fast,  huddling  together  in  retired  nooks 
and  clinging  around  the  rose  bushes  and  shrubbery, 
covering  up  the  daffodils  and  jonquils,  or  drifting 
aimlessly  at  the  mercy  of  the  coquetting  winds.  On 
a  level  spot  at  the  foot  of  the  little  hill  that  sloped 
down  from  the  old  house,  there  was  a  great  pile  of 
leaves,  apparently  raked  together  for  a  bonfire,  or 
to  be  conveniently  hauled  away  and  spread  over  the 
garden.  Near  by,  the  lately  disturbed  earth,  under 
the  old  Hague  tree,  marred  the  beauty  of  the  au- 
tumn scene.  The  "national  trees"  shivered  in  naked 
shame  before  each  other,  stripped  of  their  blooming 
honors,  and  pillaged  of  their  fruits.  The  old  Peace 
Palace,  denuded  of  its  green  adornments,  was  still 
the  favorite  spot  of  Varena  Farnam.  Here  she 
climbed  with  her  book  and  pillow  when  she  sought 
to  be  alone.  But  the  time  had  come  when  her  quiet 
hour  was  to  be  seriously  disturbed.  Stretched  along 
the  boards  that  lay  over  two  large  limbs  of  the  tree, 
her  elbows  resting  on  her  cushion  with  her  book 
open  before  her,  she  heard  voices  approaching  and 
looked  up  questioningly. 

"Who  in  the  world  can  those  people  be  with 
Grandmother,  and  what  are  they  coming  down  here 
for?"  she  soliloquized.  "Uncle  Henry  is  guiding 
them,  and  with  him  is  a  matronly  woman  in  a  nurse's 
costume.  And  that  beautiful  woman,  so  quiet  and 
sad,  she  looks  like  Russell.  That  must  be  her  hus- 

260 


GRANDMOTHER  261 

band  with  his  arm  around  her.  What  a  jolly,  old, 
gray-headed  man  talking  to  Grandmother!  He  acts 
as  if  he  was  tickled  to  death  about  something.  But 
that  tall,  dark  man,  I'd  be  afraid  to  meet  him  alone, 
even  in  the  daylight.  Why  are  they  coming  down  to 
my  old  tree?"  Then  she  looked  down  at  the  up- 
turned earth  and  added:  "Not  to  disturb  my  peace, 
maybe,  but  to  solve  the  mystery,  D.  V."  She  lay 
down  on  her  pillow  with  her  eyes  half  closed  and 
waited  and  listened.  Russell,  only,  noticed  her  and 
smiled. 

The  little  company  stopped  in  front  of  the  shock 
of  leaves,  and  Henry  spread  three  rugs  along  the 
ground.  The  women  sat  down  on  one  and  two  of 
the  men  on  the  other.  The  nurse  stood  below,  near 
Uncle  Henry,  who  constantly  mopped  his  brow  with 
his  bandanna.  The  atmosphere  was  vibrant  with 
suppressed  emotion  and  eager  anticipation.  Varena 
watched  with  humid  eyes  and  listened  with  a  tremb- 
ling heart.  Intuitively  she  felt  some  great  change 
approaching. 

Uncle  Henry  was  the  first  to  speak.  He  bowed, 
wiped  his  brow,  cleared  his  throat,  coughed,  bowed 
again,  and  began:  "Ladies  an'  gentlemen  an' 
Grandmother."  He  hesitated,  coughed,  rubbed  his 
head,  and  continued:  "I  should  like  to  just  say  that 
I  begged  the  privilege  to  bring  you  all  to  this  grove 
on  this  occasion,  an'  I  have  'quested  the  Judge  to 
'splain  the  situation."  He  moved  back  toward  the 
leaves,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  face. 

The  venerable  Judge  Johnson  came  down  before 
the  company,  and,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  dark- 
visaged  man,  in  carefully  chosen  words,  stated: 
"This  is  a  family  secret.  It  has  been,  in  a  measure, 
buried  for  twenty  years.  For  the  honor  of  the  fami- 
lies connected,  the  skeleton  is  to  be  brought  to  view 
for  an  hour,  and  then  disappear  forever.  The  Om- 
niscient has  unravelled  the  mystery,  has  meted  pun- 


262  GRANDMOTHER 

ishment  and  reward,  afflicting  the  evil-doer  and 
blessing  the  faithful.  The  past  has  been  in  His 
hands;  the  future  we  trust  to  Him.  In  my  watchful 
interest  over  the  daughter  of  an  old  sweetheart  of 
mine,  I  suspected  that — for  some  ulterior  motive — 
she,  at  a  critical  period  in  her  life,  was  being  im- 
posed upon.  Unable  to  establish  any  facts  or  find 
a  clue  by  which  I  could  unravel  the  web,  I  kept  my 
own  counsel.  I  was  three  years  in  finding  this  lady, 
Miss  Fredereka  Lewis,  who  had  been  cruelly  de- 
prived of  her  privileges  as  a  nurse  by  the  instigation 
of  an  influential  physician,  and  had  joined  the  Sal- 
vation Army.  We  have  been  in  communication 
since,  and  I  have  found  the  Army  an  efficient  and 
conscientious  detective  force.  The  injustice  and 
mystery  of  her  experience  impressed  upon  her  mind 
the  vivid  memory  of  a  child,  whose  birth  she  had 
witnessed.  Miss  Lewis  was  a  young  girl  then,  when 
she  washed  and  dressed  a  brown-eyed  boy  and 
watched  him  fall  asleep  listening  to  her  first  lullaby." 

"Miss  Lewis!"  murmured  the  beautiful  woman. 

"Will  you  describe  the  child?"  the  Judge  asked, 
turning  to  the  nurse. 

The  dark  man  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Is  this  what 
you  brought  me  here  for?"  he  demanded.  "You 
told  me  it  was  to  christen  the  Mayor's  new  auto- 
mobile." 

The  old  Judge  fixed  his  compelling  eyes  on  him 
and  spoke  quietly:  "Sit  down,  Dr.  Harding.  This 
is  all  in  the  family.  Its  remaining  so,  depends  upon 
you.  If  it  were  given  to  the  public,  where  would 
you  land?" 

"You  can't  prove  anything,"  he  asserted,  falling 
back  on  the  rug. 

"Wait;  and  remember  that  it  is  for  the  sake  of 
your  wife  and  children  and  her  brother's  family  that 
you  are  spared,"  averred  Judge  Johnson. 


GRANDMOTHER  263 

Mrs.  Kendrick  was  very  pale  and  her  husband 
moved  near  and  held  her  hand.  Mrs.  Falconer  was 
calm  and  happy;  for  she  had  heard  all  the  particu- 
lars from  her  faithful  servant  immediately  on  his 
reaching  home.  She  had  rewarded  his  faithfulness 
by  humoring  his  wish  to  have  the  revelation  made 
at  the  old  home  and  in  the  grove  where  the  secret 
had  been  entombed.  Russell,  to  whom  the  scene  was 
of  most  vital  interest,  stood  apart,  with  livid  lips 
and  flaming  eyes.  Grandmother  had  taken  him 
alone  and  prepared  him  for  what  was  coming. 

"Miss  Lewis,"  said  Judge  Johnson. 

Miss  Fredereka  modestly  stated:  "The  night  of 
the  Bernadotte  ball,  about  twenty  years  ago,  in  the 
home  of  Mrs.  Kendrick  I  washed  and  dressed  a 
beautiful  baby  boy,  with  a  bald  head,  brown  eyes, 
perfect  ears.  There  was  not  a  blemish  about  him, 
unless  a  slight  bend  in  the  little  finger  could  be  con- 
sidered one." 

Mayor  Kendrick  and  Russell  simultaneously  lifted 
their  hands  and  looked  at  their  fingers,  then  smiled 
at  each  other,  and  Richard  said:  "A  family  hered- 
ity." 

The  Judge,  gratified,  continued:  "The  night  of 
the  great  international  party  I  returned  to  the  city 
with  my  friend,  and,  impelled  by  some  superhuman 
influence,  went  into  his  home.  I  looked  at  the  child 
to  find  not  one  characteristic  feature  of  the  family 
— receding  chin,  pug  nose,  heavy  hair.  I  turned  it 
over  and  found  one  defective  ear  on  the  dead  babe's 
head." 

"I  never  killed  the  child.  He  died.  What  is  your 
object  in  coming  here  to  the  woods  and  telling  this 
to  strangers?"  asked  the  Doctor,  nervously. 

"I  am  sure  you  have  not  forgotten  that  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's honored  husband  was  the  pastor  of  your 
church  for  a  number  of  years,"  stated  the  Judge. 


264  GRANDMOTHER 

"I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  Mrs.  Falconer 
and  would  spare  her  this  uncomfortable,  damnable 
scene,"  replied  Dr.  Harding. 

"Quiet,  Doctor.  Better  for  Luella's  comfort  that 
you  are  a  little  distance  from  home.  However,  the 
chief  reason  of  our  being  here  is  that  the  first  right 
to  know  the  whole  truth  belongs  to  Grandmother." 
The  Judge  spoke  the  name  with  a  peculiar  sweetness 
as  he  bowed  to  her.  "We  are  indebted  for  the  con- 
summation of  our  hopes  to  Mrs.  Falconer  and  her 
faithful  servant." 

During  these  remarks,  Uncle  Henry  was  remov- 
ing the  leaves  and  bringing  to  view  a  rusty  iron  box, 
recognizable  as  an  old-fashioned  deposit-box,  which 
might  have  been  used  before  the  advent  of  bank- 
safes. 

Judge  Johnson  pointed  to  it  and  continued:  "This 
safe  was  shipped  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  put  off  at  the 
landing,  and,  with  some  furniture  that  happened 
to  come  at  the  same  time,  was  hauled  over  to  the 
house;  it  was  supposed  to  be  full  of  silver  plate  re- 
turned after  the  war.  It  was  an  hour  or  more  be- 
fore the  safe  could  be  opened,  when  the  key  was 
accidentally  found  by  removing  some  solder  from  a 
crevice.  Strapped  to  a  pillow  and  fastened  securely 
to  the  bottom  was  a  child — asleep."  A  lump  in  the 
Judge's  throat  checked  his  words. 

Mabel  Kendrick  leaned  against  her  husband,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  Russell.  The  interest  was  intense. 
Henry  opened  the  safe  door.  The  pillow  had  been 
preserved  and  laid  in  its  place. 

The  Judge  continued:  "Grandmother's  daughter 
had  given  birth  to  a  boy  a  few  days  previous,  and 
the  mysterious  stranger  was  taken  to  her  breast, 
twin  brother  to  her  own  son;  and,  as  such,  they  have 
been  reared  and  educated,  the  truth  known  only 
to  the  parents,  the  old  family  physician,  and  Uncle 


GRANDMOTHER  265 

Henry.  Grandmother  will  confirm  these  state- 
ments." 

"Supposing  all  that  you  say  to  be  true,  how  can 
you  connect  this  old  box  with  our  families?"  de- 
manded Dr.  Harding. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you  to  ask  that  question," 
replied  the  Judge,  smiling.  "If  you  will  look  care- 
fully, you  may  see  a  piece  of  black  paper  pasted  in- 
side the  iron  box.  It  is  more  noticeable  now  than  it 
was  years  ago;  for  the  paper  is  mouldy  and  the  iron 
rusty.  It  has  not  yet  been  disturbed.  There  may 
be  revelation  or  disappointment  for  us.  Uncle 
Henry,  take  your  knife  and  remove  the  paper, 
please." 

Henry  did  so  with  trembling  hands  and  took  from 
behind  it  a  little  silk  band  with  the  name  "Mabel 
Kendrick"  stamped  indelibly  on  it.  It  was  yellow 
and  rotten;  but  Miss  Lewis  recognized  it,  and  said: 

"I  made  some  little  belly-bands  out  of  a  white 
silk  skirt  of  Mrs.  Kendrick's.  This  happened  to 
be  the  one  with  the  name  on  it.  I  remember  when 
I  pinned  it  on  the  baby."  Her  eyes  glowed  with 
excitement  and  gratitude. 

Richard  Kendrick  lifted  his  wife  to  her  feet  and 
kept  one  arm  around  her  trembling  form.  Taking 
Mrs.  Falconer's  hand,  he  said:  "Our  gratitude  to 
you  is  boundless." 

Russell  came  to  them.  He  had  never  experienced 
the  need  of  a  mother,  because  of  the  all-sufficiency 
of  the  Grandmother;  but,  as  he  realized  that  this 
man  and  his  wife  were  his  parents,  his  heart 
throbbed  with  a  new  sensation,  his  soul  glowed  with 
a  filial  affection  unknown  before,  and  he  looked  up 
with  pride  at  the  noble  father  and  took  his  beautiful 
mother  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  Then, 
with  an  impulse  born  of  true  nobility,  he  turned  and 
hugged  Grandmother  heartily. 


266  GRANDMOTHER 

Mrs.  Falconer,  disengaging  herself  and  smiling 
through  her  tears,  said:  "I  shall  have  to  part  with 
you,  my  boy.  You  have  been  good  to  me,  and  we 
shall  miss  you;  but  greater  things  are  in  store  for 
you;  and  my  happiness  is  complete  in  the  knowledge 
that  Richard  and  Mabel  Kendrick  are  your  parents." 

"Will  you  leave  the  home  of  your  childhood  and 
go  with  us?"  asked  Richard. 

"It  is  yours  to  command,  and  mine  to  obey,"  said 
Russell,  smiling.  "I  am  not  yet  of  age." 

"My  baby  for  one  year,  anyway,"  cried  Mabel, 
joyously. 

Not  for  a  moment  during  the  interview  had  Va- 
rena  been  absent  from  Russell's  thoughts;  he  now 
led  his  parents  toward  the  Peace  Palace,  and  held 
out  his  arms.  They  looked  up  in  the  tree  and  thought 
they  had  never  beheld  a  more  beautiful  vision.  The 
young  girl  had  risen,  and,  poising  for  an  instant — 
with  her  dainty  feet  resting  on  the  bough  of  the  tree, 
the  soft  folds  of  her  delicate  blue  dress  clinging  to 
her  shapely  limbs,  her  loosened  curls  falling  about 
her  flushed  face,  and  her  great,  wistful  eyes  looking 
out  appealingly — she  lifted  her  arms  and  dropped 
easily  to  Russell's  breast,  as  she  had  learned  to  fall 
on  the  mattress  in  the  school  gymnasium.  He 
pressed  her  to  his  heart  for  one  brief  moment,  then 
presented  her  to  his  father  and  mother  and  Judge 
Johnson.  She  was  very  shy  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ken- 
drick, but  she  took  the  old  Judge's  breath  away  when 
she  threw  her  arms  around  him  and  kissed  his 
wrinkled  cheek. 

When  Mayor  Kendrick  walked  over  to  take  the 
hands  of  Miss  Lewis  and  Uncle  Henry,  words 
seemed  to  have  forsaken  him;  and  the  Judge  slapped 
him  on  the  shoulder,  saying:  "Here's  a  man  who 
sways  an  audience  by  the  power  of  his  eloquence, 
subdues  a  city  council  to  his  will,  controls  the  popu- 


GRANDMOTHER  267 

lar  vote  by  his  harangue,  dumb  with  gratitude  before 
an  old  colored  man  and  a  modest  nurse." 

Uncle  Henry  mopped  his  brow,  bowing  and  smil- 
ing. Miss  Fredereka  said:  "We  understand,  and 
the  Salvation  Army  knows,  too,  where  our  large  do- 
nation came  from." 

Judge  Johnson  interrupted  by  asking:  "Where 
did  you  send  Dr.  Harding,  Uncle  Henry?" 

"I  'lowed  as  you  would  want  room  in  the  auto- 
mobile for  Marse  Russell;  an'  as  the  Doctor  seem'd 
'bout  to  start  up  over  the  hill,  I  said  as  how  he  could 
catch  the  packet  at  our  landin',  if  he  went  straight 
across  the  meadow.  The  boat  whistled  for  the  vil- 
lage just  a  minute  ago,"  explained  Henry. 

The  party  went  up  to  the  big  side  veranda,  where 
Jim  and  Jenny,  obedient  to  orders,  had  brought  out 
little  tables  and  served  cream  and  cake  and  fruits. 
After  some  deliberation,  it  was  decided  that  Rus- 
sell should  accompany  them  to  his  new  home,  and 
Mrs.  Falconer  excused  herself  to  look  over  the  mail 
that  the  delivery  man  had  left  in  the  box. 

"We  haven't  heard  from  Ralph  since  he  left 
for  Harlam,  Tenn.,  where  he  is  to  take  the  position 
of  assistant  cashier  in  the  bank  in  which  we  are  in- 
terested. If  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  get  the  mail,  so 
that  Russell  may  hear  from  him  before  he  leaves." 

Russell  followed  Mrs.  Falconer  to  the  grape- 
arbor,  and  with  his  eyes  drew  her  aside. 

"Grandmother,  tell  me,  have  you  known  all  these 
years  that  Varena  was  not  my  sister?"  he  eagerly 
questioned. 

"Yes,  Russell;  and  I  have  recognized  that  your 
affection  for  each  other  was  a  natural  affinity,  of 
which  you  were  wholly  unconscious.  I  have  always 
intended  giving  you  the  history  of  your  coming  to 
me.  And  have  prayerfully  waited  for  the  proper 
time  to  come  when  it  would  be  right  for  you  to  know 


268  GRANDMOTHER 

your  true  relationship.  My  faith  has  been  rewarded 
in  the  blessings  of  to-day." 

"Then  it  would  not  be  wrong "  began  Russell. 

"I  anticipate  your  desire,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner; "go  home  with  your  parents.  Let  a  few 
months  of  separation  intervene,  and  then  we  will 
talk  more  about  it." 

"May  I  say  good-bye  to  Varena  alone?"  requested 
the  boy. 

"Certainly;  you  will  find  her  upstairs.  I  sent  her 
to  help  Jenny  pack  your  valise.  She  knows  best 
what  you  will  most  wish  to  take  with  you." 

Mrs.  Falconer  went  on  out  for  the  mail,  and  Rus- 
sell returned  to  the  house.  He  found  Varena  stand- 
ing by  his  secretary,  gazing  at  a  scrap  of  paper,  on 
which  was  scribbled  the  original  of  the  little  verse: 
"If  I  were  a  dewdrop  and  you  a  red  rose."  Two 
big  tears  were  loitering  on  her  long,  dark  lashes. 

"Leave  Jennie  to  finish  the  packing  and  come  with 
me,  Varena,  I'll  show  you  the  rose  bush  that  gave 
inspiration  to  the  poem,"  said  Russell,  smiling  into 
her  wistful  eyes. 

Something  in  his  manner  calmed  the  throbbing  of 
her  heart,  the  possessive  note  in  his  voice  dried  her 
tears.  Together  they  sought  the  mound  where  she 
had  slept  while  the  boys  crowned  her  with  flowers. 

The  company  on  the  veranda  waited,  finished  eat- 
ing their  ice-cream,  and  still  waited.  An  hour  passed 
before  the  truants  appeared,  flushed  and  happy. 
Then  they  sat  together  on  the  old  settee  where  so 
often  they  had  listened  to  Grandmother's  stories, 
and  now  she  read  to  them  a  letter  from  Ralph. 

Mrs.  Falconer  was  greatly  agitated  over  the  news 
that  she  had  just  received  from  her  son.  It  was  al- 
most as  startling  a  revelation  as  that  which  they  had 
witnessed  under  the  old  "Peace  Palace"  tree. 

"I  have  a  letter  from  Ralph  that  I  may  as  well 
read  to  you.  As  Judge  Johnson  said,  'it  is  all  in  the 


GRANDMOTHER  269 

family.'  Whatever  concerns  our  children  now,  must 
be  of  interest  to  you  all,"  and  Mrs.  Falconer  con- 
tinued: 

"Dear  Grandmother: 

"When  I  left  home  to  take  the  position  of  assistant 
cashier  in  the  bank  at  Harlam,  I  really  intended 
coming  direct.  Now,  dear  Grandmother,  to  make 
you  understand  why  I  did  not  do  so  and  get  you  to 
forgive  me  for  leaving  you  so  long  without  a  letter 
— knowing  how  you  will  worry  about  me — I  must 
go  back  and  explain  some  things  that  happened  while 
we  were  in  college. 

"I  knew  and  loved  a  very  beautiful  girl  and  she 
loved  me.  We  met  clandestinely  and  planned  to 
keep  our  engagement  a  secret  until  we  had  finished 
school  and  I  could  visit  her  in  her  home.  I  learned, 
incidentally,  that  her  father  was  a  hard,  tyrannical 
man,  exacting  and  unsympathetic,  and  I  determined 
to  be  started  in  business  and  able  to  provide  for  his 
daughter  before  trying  to  secure  his  consent.  We 
were  very  happy  until  he  came,  unexpectedly,  and 
took  her  home  from  the  seminary.  She  left  a  note 
for  me,  in  which  she  said  that  she  was  expecting  to 
sail  for  Europe  with  her  brother,  the  journalist,  in 
a  few  days  and  for  me  not  to  write  until  I  heard 
from  her.  I  waited  and  watched  the  newspapers. 
The  week  following,  I  saw  the  list  of  passengers 
who  sailed  from  New  York,  in  which  her  brother's 
name  was  mentioned.  But  either  her  name  had  been 
omitted  or  she  did  not  go.  In  the  latter  case  I  hoped 
that  she  would  attend  the  college  commencement. 
After  that  I  waited  for  a  letter.  You  will  recall  the 
fact  that  I  got  the  mail  out  of  the  box  every  day 
while  I  was  at  home  this  summer.  If  I  did  not  get 
a  letter,  I  wanted  to  know  that  Russell  didn't  either. 
They  were  great  friends  at  one  time.  Dear  old 
Russ. 


270  GRANDMOTHER 

"Well,  when  I  left  the  old  home  and  the  dearest 
Grandmother  that  ever  lived,  I  determined  to  satisfy 
my  mind  about  Eleanor  before  1  went  South.  I 
knew  I  could  not  start  into  my  new  position  with 
any  ambition  or  success  with  this  awful  uncertainty 
gnawing  at  my  heart,  and  that  I  must  find  my  sweet- 
heart. I  could  not  risk  a  letter  on  account  of  her 
father.  So  I  just  switched  off  at  the  junction  and 
took  the  train  for  the  city.  I  found  the  avenue  on 
which  I  knew  she  lived,  and  went  within  a  block  of 
the  house  several  times.  I  was  cherishing  the  hope 
of  seeing  her  mother,  whom  I  knew  was  kind  and 
gentle,  like  you,  Grandmother;  but  I  was  horribly 
afraid  of  running  into  the  despicable  father.  Finally, 
I  ventured  past  the  house.  My  darling  had  often 
described  her  home  to  me  and  that  of  her  aunt's  in 
the  same  yard.  It  must  have  been  her  Aunt  Mabel 
that  I  saw  on  the  veranda — yes,  she  says  it  was. 
She  is  awfully  afraid  that  I  will  not  word  this  letter 
exactly  right.  Anyway,  Grandmother,  the  beautiful 
woman  reminded  me  of  Russ.  She  looked  at  me 
with  a  questioning  gaze,  like  he  used  to  when  he 
thought  I  was  up  to  some  mischief.  But,  Grand- 
mother, she  looked  so  sad  that  it  made  me  feel  like 
I  was  a  well  of  tears,  and  I  rushed  down  the  street 
with  the  lids  tight  over  my  eyes  to  keep  from  flood- 
ing the  sidewalk.  No  joke,  Grandmother;  I  was 
"powerful'  blue  myself,  as  Uncle  Henry  would  say. 
I  saw  her  the  next  night,  and  there  never  was  a 
face  more  beautiful  or  more  sad.  I  wish  you  could 
see  her,  Grandmother;  you  would  know  how  to  make 
her  happy,  maybe.  I  walked  past  the  house  the  next 
evening  and  saw  no  one.  I  just  could  not  leave  the 
city  without  some  definite  information;  so  I  was  en- 
deavoring to  muster  sufficient  courage  to  call  at  the 
front  door  and  pose  as  a  book-agent,  when  some- 
thing fell  on  the  walk  in  front  of  me.  I  looked  and 
found  a  spool  of  thread.  Seeing  no  one  in  sight,  I 


GRANDMOTHER  271 

went  away  quickly.  When  alone,  I  began  to  unwind 
the  thread,  and  soon  discovered  a  bit  of  paper,  on 
which  was  written  in-  a  beloved  handwriting  the 
words:  'Come  to  the  alley  gate  at  io  o'clock.'  I 
went,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  clasped  my  darling  in 
my  arms.  I  can  never  tell  you,  dear  Grandmother, 
how  she  wept  on  my  neck;  how  unselfishly  she  had 
loved  me;  how  nobly  she  was  sacrificing  herself  for 
me;  how  she  watched  me  walk  past  for  three  days, 
before  her  strong  resolution  gave  way  to  her  longing 
for  me  and  she  threw  the  little  message  to  call  me 
to  her.  I  tell  you  all  this,  dear  Grandmother,  for 
you  are  one  of  the  few  women  who  never  grow  too 
old  to  understand  these  heart  experiences. 

"I  planned  to  come  again  the  next  night  with  a 
closed  carriage;  for  you  know  that  one  of  the  char- 
acteristic elements  of  a  thorough  blue-blooded  Ken- 
tucky gentleman  is  a  run-away  wedding.  The  day 
was  a  long  one,  but  io  o'clock  came.  Her  father 
had  just  gone  with  a  party  to  tour  through  the  coun- 
try in  the  new  automobile  her  uncle  had  brought 
from  New  York;  so  she  took  me  in  the  house  to  see 
her  mother,  Luella  Harding.  She  knows  you,  and 
she  sang  in  the  choir  when  Grandfather  was  pastor 
of  Calvary  Church.  She  was  so  good  to  us.  Packed 
a  large  trunk  full  and  helped  me  carry  it  down-stairs. 
She  felt  bad  when  she  told  us  good-bye;  but  she  is 
coming  to  see  us  soon.  We  took  the  12:10  train  and 
reached  the  junction  about  3  A.M.  Here  we  had  four 
hours  to  wait.  We  had  plenty  of  time  to  eat  break- 
fast, find  the  clerk,  procure  a  license,  and  call  on  the 
minister.  Then,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ralph  Farnam, 
we  bought  tickets  for  our  destination. 

"The  president  of  the  bank  gave  us  a  cordial  wel- 
come and  has  been  very  kind  in  helping  me  find  a  lit- 
tle cottage.  Of  course,  we  do  not  say  anything  about 
being  bride  and  groom;  for  it  will  be  pleasanter  to 
avoid  the  charivari  and  jokes  that  they  play  on  a  fel- 


272  GRANDMOTHER 

low  down  here.  We  are  going  to  settle  down  to 
business  now,  and  not  come  home  for  three  years; 
then  you  will  all  be  glad  to  see  us.  And,  Grand- 
mother, you  never  can  know  how  grateful  I  am  that 
you  sent  me  down  to  take  a  position  in  Harlam. 
Eleanor  is  looking  over  my  shoulder,  reading  every 
word  that  I  write.  She  sends  her  love  to  all  of  you 
and  says  you  need  not  worry  about  trying  to  help 
us  set  up  housekeeping,  for  she  found  a  letter  in  her 
trunk  with  a  $5,000  wedding  check  from  her  mother. 
But  I  would  like  to  have  the  quilts  that  you  pieced 
for  me  and  my  blankets.  Don't  make  a  mistake  and 
send  the  pair  you  had  made  for  Varena  out  of  the 
wool  that  she  made  a  saddle  to  ride  down  hill  on. 
It  makes  me  a  little  bit  homesick  to  write  to  you, 
Grandmother,  but  I  am  the  happiest  boy  in  the  world 
too.  Write  and  tell  me  all  the  news  and  give  my 
love  to  Russ  and  Sister  and  Jim  and  Jennie  and 
Uncle  Henry  and  Flash  and  the  cats  and  bird  and 
horses,  and  most  for  you. 

Lovectionately, 

RALPH. 
Harlam,  Tenn.,  Sept.,  19 — 

"Eleanor  Harding!"  ejaculated  Varena.  "Was 
that  her  father  who  was  here?" 

"That  was  her  father,"  said  Judge  Johnson. 
"She  is  like  her  mother." 

"I  knew  she  loved  Ralph,"  said  Russell,  quietly. 
"She  gave  me  her  confidence  one  evening  after  our 
last  lesson  together." 

"Another  link  that  unites  our  families,"  said  Rich- 
ard Kendrick.  "Mrs.  Falconer,  you  have  given  us 
a  nephew  and  a  son.  What  compensation  shall  we 
ever  be  able  to  make  to  you?" 

"I  know,"  said  Judge  Johnson,  winking  mischiev- 
ously at  Varena. 

"Be  good  to  the  boys  and  I  am  satisfied,"  said 


GRANDMOTHER  273 

Mrs.  Falconer,  while  the  tears  again  made  their  ap- 
pearance. 

The  aesthetic  nature  of  Mabel  Kendrick — the 
faith,  hope,  beauty,  and  purity  of  soul,  the  ambition, 
aspiration,  and  longing  of  mind,  the  love,  apprecia- 
tion, and  gratitude  of  heart — expressed  itself  in  the 
terseness  of  her  graceful  figure,  in  the  pallor  of  her 
fair  face,  and  in  the  liquid  depths  of  her  blue  eyes. 
Her  happiness  was  too  deep  for  words. 

"We  must  say  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Falconer  if  we 
wish  to  reach  the  city  before  night,"  Judge  Johnson 
suggested. 

As  adieus  were  exchanged,  Richard  Kendrick, 
realizing  that  Varena  would  be  deprived  of  her  com- 
panion, held  her  hand  in  a  warm  clasp  and  said: 
"We  shall  take  you  home  with  us  some  day."  He 
was  surprised  at  the  crimson  that  suffused  her  cheeks ; 
but  his  wife  smiled  with  gratification  and  kissed  her 
tenderly. 

When  the  marvellous  new  machine,  with  its  honk- 
honk-honk  vibrating  through  the  hills,  turned  into 
the  main  road,  carrying  away  Russell  and  his  new- 
found parents  and  friends,  Mrs.  Falconer  put  her 
arms  around  Varena  as  they  stood  on  the  old  ver- 
anda watching  for  the  last  flutter  of  a  handkerchief, 
and  said: 

"The  destiny  of  my  three  darlings  decided  in  a 
day." 

"Russell  is  coming  back,  Grandmother,  and  we'll 
never  leave  you,"  sobbed  Varena. 

"D.  V.,  Grandmother,"  responded  Uncle  Henry, 
from  the  stone  steps  at  the  end  of  the  veranda. 


